


A Heart’s Home

by Kurohitenshi



Series: A Heart's Home [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASOIAF Characters - Freeform, Angst, Canon - Book, Canon Compliant, Childhood Trauma, Cousin Incest, Dark Arya Stark, Dark Jon Snow, Domestic, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feels, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Jon Snow is a Stark, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Obsession, Oral Sex, POV Arya Stark, POV Jon Snow, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Psychological Trauma, R Plus L Equals J, Reunion, Romance, Second Chances, Sibling Love, Smut, Soulmates, The Grand Northern Conspiracy, Vaginal Sex, Warging, Wolf Pack, jonrya
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2020-05-07 15:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 19
Words: 200,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19212265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kurohitenshi/pseuds/Kurohitenshi
Summary: Three years has passed since all the Starks went their separate ways. Spring has arrived in Westeros and so has Arya Stark from a long journey across the Sunset Sea. Beyond the Wall, Jon Snow has chosen to disappear for ever, a ranger of the Night's Watch living deep in the wilderness with the Free Folk.Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle,Jon told Arya long ago. This time around, it leads them back to a castle all their own.But this semblance of fragile peace and warm sanctuary in their own little cabin in the mountains of the True North is soon threatened as summons from the South come, forcing them to answer the call. Three years after the Wars of Ice and Fire, all the players are back in the game as Jon and Arya will be forced to deal with court and intrigue, first with another Northern plot, then next with the reconvening of the Southern council.***Notes: This tries to resolve the TV Series ending but remains truer to the canon of GRRM's ASOIAF.Last Updated: 7 Apr - Chapter 19: The Spring Feast





	1. Wayfaring Stranger

**Arya Stark**  
  
Dread settled in the pit of her stomach as Arya Stark stepped off the boat. She was back in Westeros, its sand beneath her boots. In front of her were rolling hills and distant valleys and in the wind, the smell of wet grass, earth, and spring flowers.

In her most recent memory of the continent, which she still dreamed about so vividly even after so many years, all she could remember of Westeros were the scent of burning bodies and rotting flesh, of dust and smoke, and the cold ice permeating the land. All she could hear were the screams of fear and agony as people, highborn and lowborn, were slain by the Others or burned by the Dragon Queen, during the wars of ice and fire.

She bit her bottom lip, feeling almost anxious at this impossible change of this land as her left hand touched the pommel of Needle as a source of security and comfort. Everything surely has changed in this continent and she wasn't sure that she was ready to find out all its secrets yet.  
  
A moon ago, her ship _The_   _Night_ _Wolf_  arrived at the Iron Islands, in the same harbour that she sailed from nearly two years prior. Asha Greyjoy had welcomed her amicably, with a husband lord and two small children by her side, a son and a daughter of the sea.

The year prior to leaving Westeros, Arya had parted with her siblings at King's Landing after her decision to sail across the Sunset Sea. This had brought her to the Iron Islands where, swallowing her pride after the uneasy tension between Asha and herself from the council that determined the fate of Westeros, she sought all the knowledge of seafaring from the Ironborn. Although wary at first, she and Asha had become friendlier during that year, sharing stories about shared similarities: growing up with Theon Greyjoy, unconventional femininity, and the need to form their own identity in a world dominated by men.  
  
This time around, as _The_ _Night_ _Wolf_  was docked in Pyke and she was afforded the luxury of a room in its castle, she caught up with all the stories from the mainland, with mead and dishes that she hasn't had for years.  
  
Westeros has changed. Bran the Broken was a steady sort of ruler, his ability to greenseer disrupting any unrest from his people. He was wise and his council had enough grit from war to accommodate any changes. He wasn't the most loved King because no one truly knew him and he held no charisma, not like the warrior kings and beautiful queens of the past. But all the decisions he's made have been good for the realm and he prevented wars, just as he could easily find solution to any difficulties.  
  
In the south, there was a lot of rebuilding. Dorne's prince had a wedding and had small children of his own. The Westerlands had Tyrion as a Lannister to support as Lord, even as he was usually at the capital as Hand of the King; in his absence, he put a young and loyal Lannister cousin as Warden. The Reach was now under Willas Tyrell and he too had his own political marriage and a young heir while the Tarly House passed on to Maester Samwell who fostered his son and heir to the Tyrells. Highgarden made sure to educate their future vassal Little Sam Tarly who was being instructed by the finest knights and septa, as his little sister who was born after the war stayed with her parents in King’s Landing. Dragonstone was now occupied by a lesser lord who was a loyal vassal of the crown.

And of course, the Riverlands and the Vale of Arryn had her Uncle Edmure Tully and her cousin Robert Arryn and their heirs - which was of course a surprise because who would ever think that the day would come when _Sweetrobin_ would not only get married but also produce an heir? The absence of Littlefinger in the Vale had definitely given him the chance to grow on his own.  
  
And finally, there was Gendry Baratheon of the Stormlands. Arya had held her breath as she listened with rapt attention as Asha told her all about him in the candlelight of her solar in Pyke. Dear Gendry was so much like his father in his youth that he was well-loved by his people and readily accepted by both nobility and common folk. He was a just ruler of his lands, and very popular across Westeros. He held off marriage and no lady was good enough for him as he was swarmed by marriage proposals from lords for their daughter's hand. He grew into his role with natural ease, surrounded by a good council as he learned to read, write, and eventually, govern. He was easy to support because he had easy smiles and was of course the spitting image of his father. It has only been a year since he married a lady from the North, who Asha said looked a striking resemblance to Arya herself. It was only two moons ago that this Northern lady bore him a son that they called Arthur.  
  
Deep in her chest, Arya's heart clenched even as she smiled at the thought. She and Gendry had a deep friendship and she wished that she could have been there to see him on his wedding day, looking like the Lord that he was always meant to be. It was probably for the best that she wasn't there though, as their shared history would have caused him to waver in his duties. In the back of her mind, Arya could still remember the way his lips felt on hers as they both stood up from the ground at Winterfell. He had just proposed and wanted her to be his Lady as he had just been legitimized as a Baratheon. But back then, everything had been black and dire and hopeless, and she still had a list to complete. A life of a lady wasn't for her. And thankfully, Gendry was able to move on, even if it took a few years.  
  
Asha told her about the North next. Queen Sansa had a stable enough first year because the majority were happy that Ned Stark's daughter had command of their lands. But a vocal minority caused unrest soon after. No one forgot that she was technically a Lannister as no annulment ever took place between Tyrion Lannister and herself. Why should the North be ruled by a Lannister? To quell this notion and to provide stability, Sansa married a lesser lord from House Dustin, a young man named Willam who was the same age as herself. This quieted the naysayers for awhile until they noticed that an heir could not be produced. A further dilemma was had when Willam had a bastard son with a brothel whore in that same first year of marriage, proving that the Queen was possibly barren and could produce no Stark to continue the line. This past year, the North had faced an unrest as Queen Sansa's vassals were not happy with the instability of her reign and the future prospects of the North.  
  
This news was alarming to Arya and made her want to go back to her sister for support, even as she had, in the past, said that she will not go North again. It was disheartening to hear that Northern politics were not going in her sister's favor, and even her lord husband Willam seemed to make no difference in their union. Thinking about it more deeply in the days that followed after hearing about it though, Arya knew that her presence probably won't be welcomed. She didn't want the lords of the North to see her as a substitute, if they wanted an alternate. Sansa wouldn't like that. Sansa was Queen and Arya shouldn't intrude in her political affairs.  
  
Lastly, with bated breath, Arya had listened to what had happened to Jon Snow. Her brother - no, cousin really - had never made it known that he was a trueborn Targaryen and he remained, in the eyes of Westeros, a bastard of Ned Stark. There was no news about him. The only thing that was known to everyone was that the forts and castles of the Night's Watch was only an honorary garrison now since there was no true need for them. Jon Snow, in his first year, became a ranger just like Benjen Stark, and disappeared soon after in the wilderness beyond the Wall. Some say that he lived with the Free Folk now, in true deep North where he will never be found again.  
  
Presently, Arya took a deep breath as she gripped the pommel of Needle tighter in her fist. There was only one place she could go to in Westeros now, and that was in the north beyond the Wall. With a hope deep inside her racing heart and a deep sigh, she took a step forward, Ironman's Bay behind her and the Twins up ahead.


	2. A Dream of Spring

**Jon Snow**  
  
Deep in the mountain forests in one of the lesser known villages in the west, next to the Bay of Ice, was where Jon Snow now lived. The journey from the Wall to this village was nearly a moon's ride away and here he had chosen to settle with only half a hundred of the free folk.

This was once an inhabited village, long ago, before the wights extinguished all its people. Tormund Giantsbane lived in the main square with his kin, and the villagers looked to him for leadership. The closest town was over a day's ride away but the path was harsh, through endless tundra valleys and an unmarked mountain pass. In this secret place deep in the True North, only Tormund and his family knew who Jon truly was and for that, he was grateful.

Nearly three years ago when they first arrived, after the main square and huts of the village had been repaired to be habitable, Tormund and his sons helped him build a house that was hidden from prying eyes, a little higher in the mountain. It overlooked the sea to the west and a little of the village as well. It was not grand but it was solid, a structure made out of silver birch logs from the surrounding forest, logs that provided a natural insulation against the cold. The path to his house winded up like a snake from the village at the base of the mountain but it was hidden from view by the foliage of pine, birch, cypress and willow.

The spearwives had woven for him a rough but cosy wool rug for the bedroom floor, tapestries for the walls, and drapes for the windows. The men helped him build hearths for every room, and a small stable for his horses. Seeds from Highgarden and the Reach had been sent by his friend Samwell Tarly, and his former steward Satin Flowers had taken the time to sow flowers and vegetable seedlings in the garden. Every few moons, parcels arrived from Kings Landing through Castle Black, bringing with it rich gifts from the King: intricate tapestries, Arbor gold, books, beeswax candles, parchment, ink, honey, bed linen, and practical household items. 

Throughout the years he had lived here, Jon had started to make his house more habitable as old wounds began to heal. He tried his best to be an honest man, free now from the reach of politics, prophecies, and treason. Every day, there was always something to do to distract him out of the darkness of his mind, away from death, dragons, and desperation.

He hunted with the men and women, learned early on the best method to skin animals so that the furs would be usable during the cold spells. From the older folks, he listened to songs and stories about the First Men, the Children, and legends of the Lands of Always Winter. He learned to cook the dishes of the free folk, which led him to experiment and try to figure out how to make the food from his own childhood.

Nearly every day, he trained himself so that his body would not forget his skills in battle, by himself or with others. He tended his garden daily also, struggling to remember the instructions that Sam had sent to him on how to keep all the crops and flora alive.

Once a fortnight, he taught the children to read and do sums so that they could represent their village one day as trading was slowly expanding even this far from the rest of the world. He preferred to teach those who had just come of age though, men and women alike, so that they may do the teaching for him, thereby helping the villagers help themselves.

Once a moon, he ventured to towns to hear the news, trade supplies, and send or receive ravens or parcels from his cousin Bran and friend Sam through his former steward Satin who still resided in Castle Black.

Each time, there was no word of _her_.

His dear one, his heart. Arya Stark.

It left a pang as if it was an old festering wound from the day when his black brothers stabbed him until he was dead. Each time he thought of her, he felt it. No matter where he was, from the markets of free folk towns, trading for little things to put in the chambers that he made for her in his house, to moments when he was at his window, staring out at the sunset on the sea, he wondered where she was and what she was doing - if she was safe, warm, and missing him too.

He could never forget the last time he saw her at the harbour of Kings Landing, when he had been sent to the Wall and she was about to leave for her maiden voyage over the Sunset Sea. She had tears in her eyes and he could hardly look at her in the end, for the agony was so terrible at their parting. He had been heartbroken, and he knew that she had been too.

Out of everything and everyone that he could miss in the world, Jon missed her most of all.

***

It was Spring now. Even beyond the frozen Wall that was slowly melting down to rivers and streams, seasons have begun to change during the past years for the winds were no longer frigid and cruel, but lighter and more crisp. Outside his house and all over the forest and mountains, wildflowers of all colours bloomed. It made Jon recall long-forgotten memories every time he looked at them.

His little sister had loved flowers as a child, when she had been nothing but a skinny little thing in a muddy dress, with tangled hair and a toothy grin. She used to love picking them for their lord father. She would have loved to see the wild ones that grew North of the Wall, the ones she had never seen before.

Jon was coming home now from a journey to visit Mance Rayder’s son, the child prince of the King-beyond-the-Wall, Aemon Steelsong. The boy was now nearly seven years old and, like his father, he was strong and tough even as a child. He had a lot of teachers, instructing him since his return from the Citadel as Sam Tarly's ward, just like his milk brother Little Sam who was now being fostered and trained in Highgarden.

Aemon Steelsong was taught in wielding weapons and riding and had lessons in reading and sums. Someday he will be taught to govern as well so that he could hold his own against the Southron kingdoms as an alliance had formed for the first time between the Free Folk, the North, and the Six Kingdoms - all of the continent of Westeros. The young boy oft reminded him of his own wild little brother Rickon, who was lost for ever, gone too soon and young for ever, just like Jon's childhood companion Robb Stark. To help the boy further, Jon Snow, Sam Tarly and Tormund Giantsbane were his sworn advisors, as his Aunt, the Regent Queen-beyond-the-Wall Val and her warrior consort companion ruled until young Aemon was old enough to take the mantle.

Beneath him, his trusty black garron _Shadow_ had a steady pace, knowing the secret path through the mountain that led back to the village. Ahead of him, his albino direwolf Ghost was stalking forward quietly. He had a curious look as he sniffed around him, red eyes searching. Jon's solemn brows furrowed but he did not halt. When Ghost suddenly stopped however with a silent snarl that showed his sharp teeth, Jon did as well, a hand immediately grasping Longclaw's hilt.

Jon looked around, at trees and the way that sunlight dappled down through their leaves from high above, at wildflowers that permeated a sweet aroma in the air, and finally, the back of his neck prickled as he felt it - the feeling of being watched. Narrowing his eyes, he thought he could see a hundred eyes watching him from far away, although he did not feel threatened. It felt like wild animals possibly, which probably should have made Ghost more alert - but it hadn't.

All of a sudden, cool winds seemed to whistle fiercely from the western seas beyond the mountain, causing pale tree flower petals to rain down wildly to the ground. Ghost raised his snout high in the air, red eyes closing, as his jaws opened widely as if to howl as loud as he could - but was unable to. And then...

Jon's breath caught in his throat and his heartbeat quickened as he heard the loud thundering echo of a hundred wolves howling all over the mountain, as if in answer to Ghost's silent cry. It was a promise of a pack for his direwolf and inside of Jon's heart, a longing for his own.

_Where are you, little sister?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Ghost is mute so can not utter a sound, per ASOIAF. He still has the instinct to want to howl though.  
> (2) Jon Snow's exploits are not public but it doesn't mean that he hasn't been communicating with Bran, Sam, and Castle Black.  
> (3) I'm writing quite fast so there will be more sooner than later.  
> (4) Thank you for all the support and comments. Please let me know what you all think.


	3. A Time for Wolves

**Arya Stark**

_She was strong and powerful and her eyes clearly saw the clear Westeros night sky, and all the stars and the half moon that bathed the Riverlands and its forests, rivers, and human settlements. She was traveling North after so many years of waiting for her human kin, the tiny girl who was terrible in her own right like any direwolf, whose name was whispered with reverence and whose impossible feats were sung fondly by bards and drunkards alike. Her cousins had informed her as soon as the Western winds turned, and her presence in this land was confirmed by her scouts._

_Using the force of her muscular body, she flew through the night towards forests close to the Kings Road, knowing where to go as her cousins trailed behind her. It took a quarter of the night to travel but when she was close, she smelled the girl's familiar scent and it made her feel joy. And yet, like before, many years ago, there were foreign scents that mingled. Beneath her unique human scent, this time, the smell of salt and adventure was strong in her hair, unlike the thick metallic taste of blood and death from the last time they saw each other. Other things were similar to the past: regret, guilt, longing and sweetness. She was the same girl but altered, just like her direwolf companion._

_As she stepped closer, on quiet padded paws, she sniffed the air again, very curious. This time, with certainty, she felt the strong instinct to go on a final journey with this girl for she was sure that they were going the same direction. When she peered closer to her pale face and dark brown hair, the features surprised her but also did not shock her terribly. She had seldom seen what she looked like from outside her body. But it still made her gasp awake._

Arya's eyes opened with a start, all her senses from a moment ago suddenly dulled although she could still feel the lingering excitement and exhaustion from the run through the woods. She looked up at the great grey direwolf who was as big as a horse; the creature loomed down at her, silhouetted by the big bright half moon behind her perked ears. A small smile graced her lips for she felt an aching familiarity as she stared up at the dark golden eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness. They had parted after the war in Winterfell and she wasn’t certain if they would ever see each other again. Seeing her now was a little like finding a part of her that she’d lost long ago.

"Nymeria," she said, sitting up and dropping Cat’s Paw, the dagger that she always grasped in sleep. In answer, Nymeria came forward to press her nose in her hair, acceptance in her whole countenance. Arya wrapped her arms around the direwolf from her childhood, tears threatening to spill forth from her eyes as she buried her face in the direwolf’s fur. "Nymeria, it’s truly you."

***

Arya has been on the Kings Road for nearly half a moon, with Nymeria and the hundreds of smaller wolves who followed their wolf-queen traveling covertly in the forests close by. She kept her true face hidden behind a false one whenever she was close to people for she was in the North now. Unlike the last time that she was on it with Sandor Clegane, these days, it was not so grim and the voices of merchants and travelers as she passed them by spoke nothing but trivial things - wares, family, mistresses, complaints of riding, and longing for home.

When Winterfell was on the horizon, she gripped the reigns of her palfrey tight, feeling deep longing but also firm resolve. She sped up but kept the castle on her left, keeping on the Kings Road towards Castle Black. She planned to keep her vow to not return to her childhood home so as not to interfere with its politics, as its people’s devotion and awe of her since the conclusion of the Long Night’s battle within its walls alarmed her, and made her aware of its dangers of how people could use it for their own games. Sansa was their Queen now. Maybe one day, they’ll see each other again. But there was only one home for Arya as there has always been. Not a place but a _person_.

So for now, she ignored the call of her blood to visit the bones of her father and forefathers, to go to the godswood and look at the haunted face of the heart tree with its bleeding eyes, to walk inside the castle’s grey walls draped with the Stark banners, smell the baking bread from the kitchens and hear the laughter of its people. But there was a chance to have one thing among all of the things that made her think of home, and it was not in Winterfell but in _Jon Snow's smile_.

For the next few weeks, she kept a relentless pace though she was not unkind to her palfrey, stopping every few hours so that it could drink water from streams and graze on grass. The landscape had changed drastically in the years that she has been absent. The soil was rich now that it wasn’t frozen. Fields of green and gold stretched out far and wide like a sea.

As she approached the lands of The Gift, she saw what remained of the Wall. In the distance was the wall of ice that had stood for thousands of years but now it was diminished by about a quarter in height, smaller as it melted slowly into rivers and streams. The melt was happening gradually thankfully, averting the threat of flood, but the men of the Night’s Watch in cooperation with the people of the North have been hard at work, digging subtly near the wall so that new rivers were directed towards the sea and not nearby towns and villages.

The Kings Road was left as it was and it made for easy riding. Soon, Castle Black was in front of her. It made her pause and Nymeria did as well next to her, along with the army of wolves behind them.

The castle's gates were shut but it soon opened after a short wait. From inside, a slim man walked out from a sea of men in black. He was attractive and had dark eyes, and his hair and trimmed beard was black - it gripped Arya's chest for a moment thinking that it was Jon, but it was only Satin, Jon's steward from before. Satin had a ready smile as he bowed to her.

"Lady Arya," he said with reverence though he looked visibly alarmed at the pack of wolves at her heels. "I welcome you to Castle Black. Are you looking for your brother?"

Arya couldn't help but give him a mummer’s smile. Truly, Jon was not her brother but in her heart of hearts, he will always be her brother. It was nice to be reminded of that. She nodded. "I have. I have journeyed back from my travels and long to find him. Will you lead me to him, Satin?"

Again he bowed deeply to her. "Aye, milady. I alone know how to find him, and there is no one else in the world he has allowed for me to bring to him. No one but you."

She bit her lip and her eyes felt itchy but she held back the emotion from her face and her voice. "Please do. Thank you, Satin."

***

After a day's rest in Castle Black where she was afforded Jon's old room and was able to wash away the grime from her journey, Arya stood for a long moment in his quarters. She slept in his bed last night and buried her nose on his pillow. She knew in her mind that his scent had long been washed away but in her heart, she could still smell his familiar scent, and it made her feel safe and warm and so loved.

Oh how she missed him terribly. And the closer she was to him, the worse the pain got. It made her think of being so close to her mother and her brother so long ago when she and Sandor were looking towards the Twins from far away. She had been so close to them but in the end, she couldn't reach them in time. When she did, it was to see Robb atop a horse, his head replaced with Grey Wind's as the Frey and Bolton men mocked his desecrated body with cries of _"King in the North!"_ and in her wolf dreams, it was to pull her mother's naked corpse from the river with her teeth.

A shiver ran down her spine at the memory and she took a deep breath, hand gripping Needle's hilt tightly so as to steel her resolve. That was so long ago and it was different now. Satin had assured her that Jon was doing well as an honorary ranger of the Night's Watch.

So many amendments have happened to Bran Stark's decree from long ago, the one that made him rejoin the Night's Watch. Because there was truly no longer any need for them, the forts and castles that held their members now served as garrisons to hold the border of the free folk's lands and the North. And because all of Westeros were in a treaty of peace, and thereby growing prosperity, its members were less contentious, and some more fat.

There was no need for the former King in the North to be there when he could be ranging in peace wherever he desired. Bran had given him freedom to roam to his heart's content and Jon never rode to Castle Black or south of the Wall ever since.

Arya turned away from the sight of Jon's bed and walked out, shutting the door behind her. She headed to the stables where Satin was waiting with two grey garrons, a small smile on his lips.

"Good morrow, milady. I have replaced your palfrey because up North, garrons are more suitable for riding."

"Thank you," she said. "And you can call me Arya. No one beyond these walls need to know about my identity. And I'm not a lady, not truly."

He looked hesitant but he nodded his head in obedience. "That is probably for the best. There is a treaty and the War for the Dawn has brought us together but the free folk are not too keen on titles from south of the Wall. Are you ready, Arya?"

When she nodded her head, they rode forth as the gates were raised for them. Outside, the wolves were already waiting, having slept out there last night. Nymeria came bounding out from the pack and stayed close to her as they journeyed.

Arya and Satin were mostly silent in the weeks of their travel, but it was not uncomfortable. Every so often, they passed by a village though they did not venture in. Satin pointed out Whitetree and the path towards Craster's Keep, then the Fist of the First Men, and the new knowledge of all these places made her realise that she was treading on lands where Jon had been before. It was this thought that warmed her on the difficult journey north, as she shivered at the cold of this region, her dark traveling cloak perhaps too thin for this place.

Finally, they reached Skirling Pass. And this was where they suddenly turned west after a brief stop at a town, to trade for some food and supplies.

Arya surveyed the landscape surrounding them with wonder after going through a path between dark towering mountains, an open land in Frostfangs. It was a seeming endless array of tundra valleys.

The lands here were covered with a light snow but only in the morn. When sunlight from the day melted the snow, it was covered in an endless sea of wildflowers, reminding her of summers when she was a child, and she and Jon would run through fields covered with them, and they would pretend that Jon was the Lord of Winterfell and he would call her his Queen of Love and Beauty. Then they would collapse in a fit of giggles for he knew that he would never be the Lord of Winterfell and she knew in her heart that she was just an ugly little girl.

When the long march through the tundra valleys ended, tall snow-capped mountains loomed up ahead, a dark presence that swallowed up the sun as night fell. They rested for the night at the base of it, building a fire and eating dried venison, crusty bread, and ale. They also shared berries they had picked up from the road earlier before sleeping for the night, or trying to in her case. Sleep had been a difficult thing since she was nine years old, and the harsh frost of the True North was not easy to endure.

When morning came, Arya was up early and packed quickly, ignoring the weariness in her bones from the long travel and the deep cold that made her shiver, very eager to finish the journey.

 _Will Jon still want me?_ she thought, doubt clouding her as exhaustion weighed her down. Fear settled in the pit of her stomach the closer they were to their destination, a dull ache that made her queasy.  _Is my journey to see him in vain? What if I’m not welcome? What if he already has another family? A wife? Maybe he has long forgotten me._

Her heart felt like it was shattering, just from her thoughts alone. Her mood darkened as a headache began to pound in her head. If Jon didn’t want her, that was fair even if it would wound her deeply. It was within his right for Arya had been a coward three years prior, preferring to run away from the horrors that war had caused her. Arya had denied all instinct to stay with Jon because of the darkness that plagued her mind. So she had sailed away as far as she could, as if leagues of endless seas could help her escape all of it.

After half a day of riding up the mountain through an unmarked path surrounded by endless trees and wild foliage, Arya’s melancholic thoughts were interrupted as Nymeria suddenly bound forward, looking alert and eager. And then the great direwolf bolted, running off as behind her, the smaller wolves ran too, their quick paws leaving a cloud of dust behind them.

It made Arya bite her bottom lip in curiosity. It didn't seem like danger - perhaps it was prey they were after. But she couldn't help but wonder if it was something else, someone else.

And then suddenly, after another short climb, as they were in a flat path surrounded by flowering trees, the serene silence of the mountains thundered with the sound of a hundred wolves all howling together, as loud as a thousand war drums. And she knew.

Arya nudged the grey garron underneath her with her knees and made it gallop at full speed, heart in her throat. The winds seemed to pick up as soon as she did, and it smelled like the familiar sea as well as the sweet Spring flowers that surrounded them.

And then finally, there, in the distance, she saw a man with solemn features dressed in leather breeches and a simple grey cloak with fur lined around the neck. He was riding atop a black horse, his hair and beard dark.

Her heart soared and she gasped, hardly believing it. And as he turned his head toward her, she could see shock, disbelief and then finally relief and happiness as he smiled at her with a longing that mirrored hers.

They dismounted their horses at the same time and ran to one another at breakneck speed, so close now. And when they finally made contact, it was with impact for they both had not held back. It winded her as she slammed into his solid chest, her arms wound around his neck as tight as she could. In turn he lifted her up like before, making her laugh brokenly at their antics. But her eyes were wet as she buried her face on his neck, inhaling his familiar scent, so warm and masculine. And in turn, she felt wetness on her own neck where his own face was buried.

The wind continued to whip around them as if they were in the midst of a tempest but it was only tree petals that surrounded them and she could scarcely appreciate its wild beauty as her whole world was reduced to this one man, this person that she loved the most in all the world.

Arya whispered to him now, desperately trying to convey all the years of longing, regret and hurt between them, and trying vainly not to let her voice break. “I missed you, big brother.”

His arms tightened around her waist until there was no space at all between their bodies, as if to make up for the long separation. He too whispered to her ear, “I missed you too, little sister.”

 _This was home,_  she thought desperately.

In Jon's arms, she was finally _home_.

  
  
Credit: @blndraws: [Spring Reunion](https://blndraws.tumblr.com/post/189176981849)  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Thank you so much for all the comments! I enjoy interacting with readers so please keep them coming.  
> (2) Reunion finally happened! Sorry for the slow pace. I didn't want to rush through the timeline too much, since S7 and S8's wild teleporting had been a bit of a let down.  
> (3) I hope the reunion was good. It's just the start - there's more to follow. The rating will change after next chapter so if you're here mainly for the sibling reunion, I'll let you know when to stop reading.  
> (4) (Update) Art inspired by the scene above by @blndraws: [Spring Reunion](https://blndraws.tumblr.com/post/189176981849) \- Please give her art some love. She draws a lot of beautiful ASOIAF Jonrya fanart.  
> 


	4. Where the Heart is

**Jon Snow**

It was with the greatest reluctance that Jon drew back from her and set her down, holding her shoulders back so that he could take a proper look at her. A fond smile graced his face as he wiped his tears away with a sleeve.

Arya looked fairly the same as the last time he saw her, maybe just a little bit taller but still so skinny as she looked half-starved from the long journey she'd had. She was the same and it was difficult to believe that she was not a dream: she had Needle at her waist, wore the same clothes from three years ago which now looked faded and worn, and had white tree flower petals all over her rumpled hair. Despite the dirt smudged on her cheek, she looked even more radiant now than when he'd last seen her, his worldly beautiful Northern girl who had probably circled the world twice over if indeed the world was round.

She too had a smile on her face, relief on her pale solemn features. The same grey eyes like his stared back at him in wonder and longing, and like his, they were wet. Jon couldn't help but touch her face gently, wiping her tears away with the pads of his thumbs, not bearing to see the agony in her eyes. She looked just like she did that day at the docks, when he wanted to say everything to her, to whisper in her ear all his love for her, but could say nothing in the end.

 _Wherever you go, I'm right there beside you,_  he had wanted to say to her that day as he saw her tears falling, but he lost his courage as his own eyes became wet with emotion. He'd wanted to kiss her forehead, to hold her until they would have to force them apart. But in the end, he pulled away almost roughly, unable to look at her any longer lest he break down in tears as well.

When she spoke now, her voice was thick with emotion. "I'm sorry for leaving. I never should have. I'm sorry for leaving you alone after everything that happened in the past. I - "

Jon shook his head, leaning down and doing what he'd wanted to do that day at the docks three years ago. He kissed her forehead, her eyes, her wet cheeks, making her stop her apology. "There is nothing to forgive, dear sister."

At that, Arya bit her lip in worry but she nodded her acceptance reluctantly, though for some reason, she looked ashamed. "I ran away. Like a stupid child, I ran away from it all. It was cowardly."

"You were hardly more than a child during the war. You weren’t even my age when I left for the Wall. You will be the last person on my mind when I think of cowardice." Jon said, needing to reassure her, to make sure she understood.

Jon remembered the girl she had been after coming back home to Winterfell after being lost for so long. She had been lovely but so fierce and willful. Jon had been a bundle of nerves every time she wanted to fight. For every battle that she insisted on being a part of, he felt as if his heart was outside his body. He had already mourned her once, even before he had died at Castle Black, rose from the dead, and went to war for her to retake Winterfell so as to save her, only to find Jeyne Poole in her stead. Squeezing the life out of Ramsay Bolton's neck hadn't been enough to make up for letting him feel as if he lost her again. 

Darkly, he also couldn't stop the memories of when he received the letter from the bastard Ramsay Bolton, the one that made him break his vows. His mind had been lost and his heart wounded as anger and agony coursed through his veins. He thought of all the ways that Ramsay could hurt her, especially of the bastard trying to bed her with cruelty when she had only been a child of one and ten at the time.

 _I want my bride back._ Ramsay Bolton had demanded, daring to speak about his little sister in that manner.

The same words kept repeating in his mind, driving him to madness, from the hours before his death to the moments after he was resurrected, feral and foaming at the mouth like a direwolf, his mind and heart only focusing on one person, as if it was a dark obsession: Arya of House Stark, his little sister.

_I want my bride back. I want my bride back. I want my bride back._

_Stick them with the pointy end._

The memory was like a knife to his heart. He shuddered, trying to escape the crippling memory, even though all of it had been nothing but a lie, for it was just an impostor girl who had wed the Bolton bastard, and not Arya Stark.

Hearing her now speak about herself as if she was a coward made him grit his teeth, for even now, she was still so young. In truth, Arya was the bravest person he knew. He couldn't imagine evading capture in Kings Landing after their father's death at the age of nine, and somehow surviving through the War of the Five Kings afterwards. 

When he was nine years old, his only worries were being a bastard, the cold eyes of Lady Catelyn Stark, his rivalry with his half brother Robb, and having no mother to call his own. He had been safe in a castle until he was a man grown, with a warm feather bed and a lord father’s protection.

At the same age, Arya lost her father, mother and brother in many brutal ways. She became a lost child in the middle of war, hurt, alone and probably starving for she never really grew as much as her siblings, still tiny even now as a woman grown. No one who claimed to love her had saved her, not even Jon. He wondered for years what she had seen and experienced in the middle of a war torn land when she had been but a little girl with no protection from danger. He wondered if he would be able to endure hearing her story one day.

Jon knew very little about her time between Kings Landing and Winterfell a few years later. But when she did come back, during the War for the Dawn, she had commanded an army of wolves as Jon flew in the night sky atop the dragon Rhaegal, using fire to burn the wights below. She was the Stark leader on the ground, a true daughter of the the Kings of Winter. She was the one who the North looked up to when he, unknowingly at the time, was embracing his Targaryen roots in the sky, so far away from their people. In the end, a true Stark had defended Winterfell.

It was a collective effort by the North, the Vale, the Riverlands, the Brotherhood, the Free Folk, the Targaryen dragons, the Unsullied, the Dothraki, and a contingency from other Southron noble houses. But the dawn only came because of Arya Stark assassinating the Night King unexpectedly and thereby also the Others, protecting her brother Bran Stark who was the Three Eyed Crow, her home Winterfell and the North, and all of Westeros.

A shadow of his internal agony must have shown on his face for Arya reached up and drew him close again, arms around his neck as she pulled his face down to rain a few kisses on his cheeks, like she used to as a child. "I'm home now, Jon. You and I, we're a pack. I love you with all my heart. And I won't go again, unless you get sick of me and demand that I leave."

”Never!” Jon replied fiercely in her ear, aghast at the thought alone. “This is your home, Arya. I made us a house and it is yours as it is mine. And I love you too, little wolf. From the moment you were born and for always.”

Arya tightened her arms around him, burying her face on his chest. She was shaking in emotion.

”And I’m sorry too, Arya,” he continued, his lips on her hair. “When you came home before, after being lost for so long, I was not a very attentive brother to you. Barely exchanging words with you, not even truly learning about what you have been through. There was a lot of preparation for war, too many lords and ladies to appease. There was never enough time but I swore that I would make up for it. Until, regretfully, our time ran out. The Dragon Queen,” he said, nearly growling as he gritted his teeth in rage. He closed his eyes as he sighed. “There is too much regret and all I have now are meaningless excuses.”

Her voice was very soft, words muffled against his chest. “You loved her. What is a sister compared to the love of your life?”

Jon could feel anger as he thought of Daenerys Targaryen, his Aunt and former lover. He had loved her once perhaps but he couldn't remember it now; perhaps he had never loved her, not truly. He couldn’t see it at the time because he had been blinded: by the honour of his fealty, by gratitude for her help in the War for the Dawn, and even by her womanly attributes.

All of it had turned sour when he found out that they were related, and for some reason it made him guilty too, for he had devoted so much time to her instead of the kin that he grew up with, especially the ones who had so recently been returned to him.

In the end, as he honoured his word to her and they rode South for the war in Kings Landing, all that he felt for his Aunt was duty. In those months when he traveled South, choosing to march with the army instead of riding a dragon to Dragonstone, all he felt was regret for all the things he should have done, especially for the family he left behind at Winterfell, Arya most of all. There had been so many words left unspoken and it left him feeling like a shell of a man.

And then, as the war raged on in Kings Landing, he found her. Always at the wrong place at the wrong time even as a child,  _Arya_   _Underfoot_. In that burned and ruined city, she looked half-alive as she was covered from head to toe in soot and blood, her eyes swollen from smoke and tears. He felt horror and blinding rage at the thought of almost losing her after just getting her back and it snapped him into action. The sight alone of his dear sister looking like that almost drove him to madness. That the Dragon Queen had hurt her! That she could have killed his beloved sister! He saw red, the blood in his veins blackening as it pushed him to finally go to his dragon kin and slay her with his sword.

 _I died for you!_  his mind screamed.  _And only you made me defy the Queen, not the screams of the thousands she had burned!_

"She was not the love of my life." he said instead.

She drew back, her eyes downcast for a moment before she reluctantly looked up. He couldn't read her emotions but the tiny frown on her lips clearly meant she wasn’t very keen on speaking about the woman that had caused them to rift apart. "Mayhaps we can speak about this another time? I want to see where you live."

Jon took a deep breath, trying to control the monster that still raged inside his chest. He nodded to her, unable to deny her anything. "Where  _we_  live, little wolf. I want you to have a home in this world. And if you are unable to go home to Winterfell, then my home is yours. Now and always.”

Arya looked at him warmly, gratefully, causing him to feel warm and loved in return. "Thank you, Jon."

***

After the intensity of their reunion, they rode the rest of the way to the village with little words, the sun following them towards the west.

Satin trailed behind them, a distance away so as to give them the privacy to speak to each other. Around them, wolves swarmed towards the same direction, but Ghost and Nymeria stayed close. The sight of their direwolves having reunited made him feel an unspeakable joy as he watched them chase and bite each other playfully. It felt right and it felt proper, seeing the pack together again.

Beside him, atop her grey garron, Arya gave him shy looks once in awhile, and they spoke only of trivial things, not wanting to delve into the heavy and stifling words that were yet to be spoken. There was time enough for that. There were no lords, ladies, queens and kings to rule over them here. Here, in a land hidden away from the rest of the world, they could just be themselves, Jon and Arya, the way they used to be as children.

It took a few more hours but when they were close to the village, the smaller wolves started to disperse into the forest, leaving just the direwolves with their human kin. Soon, the sight of smoke from cooking fires and the main square's wooden huts became visible as they descended from the mountain. It was a tiny village but the few people in it were honest and true. As they drew closer, children who were at play spotted them and with cries of happiness, ran to them to greet them.

"Jon!" they exclaimed, their ages ranging from four to ten. "Did you bring back some sweets for us?"

He nodded solemnly with a small smile as the crowd of nine children circled around them, unable to let them go further. Jon rummaged into his pack and gave them a small sack of oatcakes and sweetmeats that he had bought from a market near the Fist of the First Men. A cheer erupted and immediately, they dispersed, one of them exclaiming a "Thank you!" as they went.

Arya was smiling at him with amusement and fondness, making his cheeks feel warm at her reaction.

"You are as kind as ever, cousin." she said, and hearing her say cousin instead of brother made him feel queer.

"It's not a hardship to bring sweets to them every time that I'm away." he said.

They saw no one else on the road. When they were close enough to the entrance of the village, he turned to Satin, who had already dismounted his horse.

"You can stay the night with Tormund, Satin. Thank you very much for bringing Arya to me safely. Your loyalty to me is deeply appreciated. Come see me on the morrow if you intend to go back to Castle Black. I have something to give to you. And please don't tell anyone about Arya, not even to Tormund. He'll find out eventually but today is not that day. Do you understand?"

"Of course, Jon. And there is nothing to thank. I remain ever your loyal servant." Satin bowed his head in respect before looking at Arya with a warm smile, as if they’ve bonded in the few weeks of travel together. It caused Jon's eyes to narrow in suspicion, even though he knew how deeply Satin’s loyalty ran. "I'm happy that you have returned, Arya. Jon has been waiting for you for a long time and he has never given up that you would find your way back. Thank you for coming home to him."

Arya gave his former steward a smile full of gratitude, and Jon forced himself to look away. "Thank you, Satin, for bringing me home to him and for being someone he could depend on while I was away. I am forever in your debt. If you have a need for anything at all, please let me know."

Satin's cheeks reddened as he shook his head and backed away from them, each step away giving Jon relief. "Please, you owe me nothing. But thank you once again."

After another deep bow to them both, Satin headed towards the main square of the village as Jon turned towards a new mountain path that led to his house -  _nay,_   _their home_. His heartbeat quickened in his chest, and he felt oddly nervous, hoping that Arya would like it, or at least be satisfied. Turning his head to make sure she was following him, Jon gave her a half-smile which she returned.

And for the first time, he knew it to be true. With her here, his house was now truly a home.

***

**Arya Stark**

The trek up the mountain path was silent but Arya didn't mind it. She felt no danger here, only the keen longing to belong. It was serene, with the village behind them and the dark waters of the Bay of Ice to their left. The sky now was tinged in red and gold, reminding her of similar sunsets on her ship. Around them, petals flew downwards from trees while foliage and flowers grew wildly and haphazardly, reminding her of a different time and place. 

As the sun was slowly setting, the breeze turned icy, making her shiver and causing Jon to look at her with familiar worry. It caused her to turn away from him with a shake of her head, for she felt unworthy of his devotion, her mind wavering for a moment. Did she truly deserve to be with him after everything she’s done in the past?

Soon, as they emerged from behind the leaves of a weeping willow, she could see a cabin in the woods in the distance, flanked on both sides with flowering apple and cherry trees, as well as cypress and oak. A small stable was on one side and on the other, a garden with hardy vegetables such as cabbage, carrots and turnips growing from the ground. The crops were well-tended to as if Jon was now capable of farming his own food, which was a surprise. In front of the house were dozens of wildflowers and on each side of the front door bloomed blue winter roses, its tendrils climbing up the cabin's walls.

Arya couldn't help but smile, lingering doubt fading away for the moment. It looked like home already, and she felt immense love for Jon then. Shyly, she looked at him, feeling her face flush at the joy of it. "It's perfect."

Jon smiled with fondness in his eyes. "Do you like it?"

"Yes," she said. "There is peace here. I didn't know there was such a place in the world."

He frowned slightly then nodded his head. Endless wars and thousands of leagues of travel had stood between the chaos of the past and this promise of peace. Arya understood what he wanted to say but was unable to.

They dismounted and led the horses to the stables, Jon giving them water from a stream next to the compound, fresh hay and apples. Arya helped in removing their saddles as the direwolves took off towards the forest, perhaps to reunite with the rest of their pack. They heard the loud howling of hundreds of wolves in the distance as Jon took her hand and pulled her towards the house. He opened the door with a key and gestured for her to go in first.

When she stepped inside, the cabin was bathed in a golden hue for the windows were uncovered, the sight of forest and sea visible from the inside. The sunset's colours made it look otherworldly because of the light and it felt like a dream. Inside, it was very cosy and welcoming. There were two bedrooms at the back, and a solar and small kitchen in front. Most of the furnishings were rudimentary and basic but it felt comfortable, from the soft-looking wool rugs, to the furs on the backs of chairs and in front of the furnace, the free folk designs on the tapestries on the wall, and the shelves that contained rows of books. The table was cut from cypress from the nearby forest and someone had gone the extra effort to carve wolves around its edges.

Beside her, Jon was leaning down to remove his boots so she followed his example after putting her travel pack down.

”It’s no castle and I am no longer a king,” Jon said solemnly as he stood and put their boots side by side next to the front door. “I have no steward or handmaidens to help care for you.”

“I didn’t want any of that anyway,” she replied, knowing it to be true. “You’re all that matters.”

He looked both pained and relieved at her answer. “Come on, I’ll show you to your chambers.”

Her chambers was the one on the left and on its front door was carved the letter  _A_. It made her look at Jon’s room door as well next to it, her eyes finding the letter  _J_. It was small details like these that made her heart flutter, and she resisted the urge to turn around and lodge herself into his arms. She was no longer a child, but a woman grown. And truthfully, Arya stopped being a child the moment Father died.

Inside, her room was a surprise. Her bed was simple enough but it looked soft, with white furs atop it. The window at the back faced to the west so she could see the red ball of the sun sinking slowly down towards the sea. On the right wall was a hearth and a desk and on the left hung an elaborate tapestry, one that had a familiar story: a fierce girl with her likeness armed with a slim sword that could only be Needle, standing at the head of a wolfpack army, a faithful direwolf next to her, and the castle of Winterfell behind her. She stared at it in wonder, not knowing what to say as she felt both humbled and embarrassed at seeing it.

"A gift from Bran. He had it made for you." Jon said from behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder. Its warm and heavy weight made her feel a lump in her throat even as she wanted to tear the tapestry down from the wall. All of the things that they had praised her for meant very little to her - she's only done it to keep her family safe. "You are the Princess of his realm, as well as the North, if you've forgotten."

"I'm not," she said, shaking her head. "Sansa is the Queen in the North. Bran can have no heir. It's a different form of governance now."

"But King Bran's sister is still the Princess, even if she is not his heir. And you are the Princess of the North ever since Robb became King. You were one when I was King. You are still one now," Jon insisted. "As for Sansa," Jon seemed to growl in anger, his fingers tightening on the curve of her shoulder. "That is a sore subject still. But know this: that before our dear brother Robb passed on, he had a will and she had been written out of it because he did not want the North to fall to House Lannister. If they took away the North from me, as a Lord or as a King, I had been assured that it would have passed on to you. That had been my only comfort as I awaited my fate in the cells of Kings Landing. I hadn't known that it would go to her. Not after what she did."

Arya didn't know what to say to that. She sensed that things did not end well between Sansa and Jon, and she wondered if that bridge would ever be repaired. Even though she made peace with her sister, she wouldn’t put it past Sansa to break her vow to Jon, her actions possibly becoming one of the catalysts to the Dragon Queen’s descent to her reign of fire and blood. Arya couldn’t imagine ever doing that to Jon. Even as a child, she couldn’t betray him to her beloved lord father after he discovered Needle in Kings Landing.

She also hadn't known that she would have been the heir after Jon. It truly didn't matter now but if the North had been given to her because of Robb's decree, she knew that she would have done her duty. For her father, her family, and for Jon. She would have been the Queen in the North. And her first decree would have been to free Jon from his exile north of the Wall and have him be by her side, if that was what he wanted. She most likely would have just handed the crown back to him too, for she felt that he deserved it more than she did.

And Jon, she knew, should have been King of it all - King of the Seven Kingdoms, as was his birthright.

Filled with so much emotion at all of her thoughts about heritage and all that Jon had lost, she turned to him now and went on her knees before him in fealty. She surprised him as she took his burned hand, pressing her lips on it in reverence. She looked up at his grey eyes, giving him all of her love and devotion. "You are _my_ King. You are the rightful heir of the Seven Kingdoms and you were denied that right. But to me, you are my King, from this day until the end of my days. And I am your sworn shield, for ever."

He knelt down immediately and held her, his arms tight around her body. "I am King only to this poor wooden castle, and I am your sworn shield, dear sister, not the other way around."

They laughed together as they held each other on the wooden floor, at the cruel jape that had befallen them, an exiled King and a Princess to two different Kingdoms, in their own mummer’s castle beyond the wall.

Jon stood, pulling her up, and mussed her hair. "I'll let you settle down for now and put your things away. I'll build a fire and start boiling some water. When you're ready, we'll have nettle tea and oatcakes. I'll prepare a bath as well so that we could wash away the grime from the road. The wooden tub will not fit in your room though. It’s in the kitchen next to the hearth, just to warn you. Will that be appropriate?"

She couldn't help but laugh. That was the least of her concern. "That's a stupid question, Jon. When have I ever been appropriate?"

There was a dark look in his eyes but he didn't answer her question. His lips quirked to the side in meaning, but she couldn't discern what it was. He turned away from her, walking out of her room. "Don't take too long, Arya."

***

After being next to Jon for hours, it was odd to be alone once again. Arya sat on her feather bed and stared around the room once more, which was bathed softly in the light of a golden sunset. Jon had given her gift after gift and it was very overwhelming. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees as she buried her face on her hands.

Was this a dream? It felt like it would end in a cruel jape, like most of her life. She was unused to his kindness after being away for so long. She felt herself shaking, but it wasn’t just from the cold. She and Jon fell into old childhood habits so easily, touching as much as they could. She longed for it so much and wanted more even now, especially after she’s had a taste. She felt so starved for him after they’ve spent too many years apart.

There had been a time, years ago, when she had felt this same hunger but Jon had been busy with his Queen then, and Arya knew that she had been forgotten in her absence. He had kept her at a distance, even when he had looked at her with longing from time to time. He had been like a stranger to her. It drove her to lurk in the shadows instead, to be with the foot soldiers, the common folk, and the friends she'd made along the way on her long journey back to Winterfell.

Jon had moved on back then, being amongst many new faces she barely knew, almost never with her. Now, there was no choice for him but to have her and it made her uneasy because maybe she was just being brash in being here, forcing herself on him.

Gritting her teeth, Arya straightened herself, taking a deep breath and staring straight ahead.

 _I am a wolf,_  she thought.  _And so is Jon. The pack is now complete. I am no longer the starving child that once was lost in the Riverlands. There is no need to feel so lost. Jon is with me now._

She stood up, feeling slightly better. She tried instead to focus on the present, glancing at the table next to the hearth. On it was an ornate red vase with wilted Winter Roses, a candlestick that had burnt down to half its size, a hairbrush and a handheld looking glass. This surprised her. When had Jon gotten these things? Did another woman stay in this room?

Fear gripped her and she suddenly felt inadequate. Mayhaps there was another lady in the house and Arya was intruding. It would be like before again, when Arya came home from Braavos and Jon was with his Queen, spending all his time with her as if he no longer had any need for Arya.

 _I crawled my way back to you,_  she thought.  _All the times that they had beat me, starved me, and even blinded me, you had been there with me. They could never take you away, not even when I had lost Needle for a time. I came back because of you. Even at the crossroads when I could have gone south to avenge Father’s death, I chose north when I heard your name. I chose you. I will always choose you._

Her mood darkened all of a sudden and she felt the beginning of a headache between her brows. She ignored this though, too used to living through little aches and pains.

She had to get out of here to clear her mind, her body’s fatigue catching up to her. She hurried to the door but when she opened it, Jon was there with a warm smile on his face, holding a wooden tray with two blue mugs of steaming nettle tea and a plate of oatcakes drizzled with honey.

And just like that, it was as if the sun had come out and cleared away the storm clouds of her mood.

”Have tea with me,” he said, tilting his head to the side to gesture towards the table. “Stay close to the fire. You need to get used to the cold spring of the True North.”

She followed him quietly, sitting next to him at the table, the roaring fire warming her back from the hearth behind her.

Jon handed her a mug, which she took gratefully. The tea tasted earthy and sweet. Jon must have put a lot of honey on it, just like when they were children. The warm liquid made her feel better already. When she bit into a piece of oatcake, honey dribbled down to her fingers and she followed it with her tongue, not wanting to waste it.

She looked up, feeling that he was watching her with amusement. She couldn’t help but grin at him. “If you don’t eat your share, I’ll eat it as well.”

Jon huffed, a half-laugh. “Eat as much as you like. You are far too skinny. Did you leave your ship and just ride north to me, with barely any sleep in between each day of riding?”

She looked down, watching the steam rising up from her mug of tea as she felt nothing but regret. She still remembered that day when they parted at the docks, how he’d looked at her. He’d been holding back tears, just like her. She didn't want him to go. She didn't want to go herself. Even at the final moment, she wanted to change her mind and go with him instead. But she had been a coward. “I wanted to go with you, on the day that you left for the Wall from King’s Landing.”

Jon reached out for her hand and she watched their fingers twining together, her hand much smaller in his burnt one. “You’re here now.”

She looked up, staring at grey eyes like hers, at the dark curls on his head, his trimmed beard and the scar running down from his forehead to his cheek. He looked as handsome as ever, making a part of her heart flutter inside her chest.

They smiled at each other and he distracted her melancholic thoughts as he spoke about the village, its people, and the myths and stories about the lands around them.

In turn, she told him about the long road she took to get here, starting from spending a moon in the Iron Islands so that she could take care of her ship and their mission for the crown. She told him about sending her crew to where they needed to be: the cartographer, maester and captain to Bran, and the rest to whatever home they chose, but always ready for the next adventure.

They spoke until the last light of day disappeared and darkness covered the lands around them outside the windows, until Jon stood and lit the candles and Arya felt her heart melt at how lovely he looked, lit softly in the dark of night. She wondered why she still felt so much longing for him even now that they were together, as if an ocean still separated them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Ages follow the books because I want to keep it as canon as possible, while trying to resolve the end of the TV Series. This is like the time skip that GRRM intended, in a way.  
> (2) Direwolves were more significant during the War with the Others in this fic because I believe that that was GRRM's intention. And there's no excuse of having no budget for them. Direwolves are as important as dragons!  
> (3) Sansa remained Lady Lannister through it all because there was never an annulment between her and Tyrion. In this fic, she never leaves the Vale per ASOIAF canon until its armies are needed by the North. She never takes Jeyne Poole's storyline or steals Arya's plot and characterisation. She instead grew in power in the Vale under the influence of Littlefinger. Because I'm following GRRM's canon, not D&D's overpriced fanfic adaptation.  
> (4) Which means Jon died for Arya at Castle Black, which was also stolen from us in the show.  
> (5) This also follows Robb's will, per GRRM canon. Sansa was written off of it because she became a Lannister through marriage. This is not to bash on Sansa - just trying to follow true canon.  
> (6) Yes, Jon and Arya are sappy because they're canonically sappy lol. So much kisses, affection, and thoughts about one another from the very start.  
> (7) If you only intended to read this with the rating of Teen, then I suggest this chapter to be your stopping point. From here on out, it will be explicit. You have been warned. This is the last stop before the sibling relationship fades away and becomes more intimate.  
> (8) Thank you for all the comments! Love it. Keep them coming. I love to engage in discussions.  
> (9) Lastly, I just got so annoyed upon learning about the omission of this line from the TV Series finale, "Wherever you go, I'm right there beside you." during Jon and Arya's parting. Hence, this was added on to this fic because of the hurt caused from that. How could they treat the greatest relationship in the books into something like a forgotten footnote in the TV Series? How could they treat it as if the smallest scrap of affection between them could be omitted?


	5. Mad Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Explicit sexual content because apparently, they just couldn't wait any longer. I tried but they wouldn't listen to reason. I'm sorry.

**Jon Snow**

After getting all their things situated, Jon put away the parcels of food he had bought from the market towns and the bottles of spices and odd little dried fruits and herbs that Arya had brought back from her travels. He filled the large tub in the kitchen with the hot water he had been boiling over the roaring fire of the hearth while Arya went to her room to get oils and soap for the bath.

Jon felt almost nervous as he put towels next to the tub while Arya came to stand next to him to set her bathing things down on a small bench, dressed only in a thin tunic that reached the middle of her bare thighs. It was a bit absurd since she wasn't a stranger to him and he had seen her naked dozens of times before when she was a little girl.

But the sight of her pale legs below her tunic drew his eyes, slender but longer and more shapely now than when she was a child. The sight of the silver scars on her knees made him smile softly as he recalled memories when she used to be a little thing with scabbed knees, teary-eyed as Septa Mordane admonished her for getting her dress muddy and ruined. And the sight of her bare feet on the wooden floor made her feel more real as it was such a normal thing to see, a true proof that she now lived with him in their shared home. He averted his eyes and went to make their supper as she pulled the tunic off her torso and went up and over the rim of the tub to settle in the hot water within.

She was at the periphery of his vision as he chopped up the tomatoes, carrots, potatoes, and onions. She was a pale ghost, a slip of a girl, still so small even now. Jon heard the water splashing softly as she scrubbed soap against her skin then sank down further into the tub. The steam rose upwards with the jasmine scent of a fragrant oil she had brought back with her from her travels as he threw the rest of the ingredients in a pot then put it high atop the fire, wanting it to simmer slowly so that the smoked elk sausage would develop the flavour of the rest of the dish. The perfumed oil smelled foreign and exotic, just as she had become after living in far off places for so long. He washed his hands in a basin, then finally looked at her, unable to stop himself.

She was so close to him, the tub being in the small kitchen. She looked tiny in it for Tormund had said that he had built it with a giant in mind. Her eyes were closed, head tilted back against the edge of the tub, looking better than this afternoon when she had looked exhausted and hungry. She still had dark circles under her eyes but hopefully, sleeping in a featherbed tonight will help remedy it. Jon couldn't help but run his eyes down her form slowly, looking at her skinny body and comparing her to what she had looked like in the past.

The last time Jon had seen her naked was after the War for the Dawn.

_After the blue dragon had fallen in front of him, Jon rushed to Bran hastily, fearing the worst. He pushed through the crowds of the living and vaulted over a near-mountain of lifeless wights that circled around the heart tree in the godswood. He caught sight of Bran as he came closer, relief flooding over him as their eyes met, and then finally, he heard the cries: "Bringer of dawn! The night wolf! Night Kingslayer! Valiant Ned's daughter! Arya Stark!"_

_He stopped in his tracks, turning from Bran to the small form that he had overlooked a few steps back. As if sensing his eyes on her, his little sister looked at him over her shoulder with blood all over her face, a fresh purple bruise around her neck, and grime from battle all over her clothes. A haunted look shrouded her eyes as she turned away, walking away from it all even as the cheers continued to erupt around her._

_His heart had stopped at the sight and he felt frozen on the spot, wanting to run to her but being kept away by duty that he knew he should not ignore. He felt madness as he clenched his hands tightly into fists at his sides. What had possessed her to go running after danger? Why did she even attempt to go after the Night King, never mind that she succeeded? Jon had advised her to stay in the crypts when danger got close, hours before the war horn sounded. She was his favourite. She was his heart. If anything had happened to her, he would have been inconsolable. He didn't know if he would be able to bear losing her again._

_He let her walk away at that moment, even though every part of him screamed for him to go to her. Instead, after he made sure that Bran was unharmed, he checked on everyone else, making a list of who had made it and who hadn't. He even tried to console his grieving Aunt Daenerys who had lost a man who had been in love with her but she had barricaded herself in her room with Missandei, Greyworm at her door. But all he thought of as he scrambled about the ruins of Winterfell was Arya with her shocking assassination of the Night King and the look she had in her eyes. After his duties were over and he had washed and changed quickly to rid himself of the stench of death, he ran as fast as he could to Arya's chambers, barging in after staying away from her for far too long._

_She was alone in the room, naked in the tub as she scrubbed away furiously at all the grime and rot from the corpses. Silent tears flowed down her cheeks and she didn't even notice that he was there. She was so small, this saviour of Westeros, yet he could see the fear in her haunted eyes._

_Jon didn't care that it was improper for this was his little sister. He rushed to her and wrapped his arms around her from the side of the tub, getting his sleeves wet as he woke her from her trance._

_"Jon?" she had said in surprise, her voice small and not believing that he would be with her instead of the Dragon Queen. "Why are you here? Aren't you needed elsewhere?"_

_"Right now, I'm needed here." he said to her, smoothing her wet hair, and kissing the bridge of her nose and then the sewn-up wound above her brow. His heart broke at her words, that she no longer expected kindness from him, as if everyone else was more important than her. He knew that he had failed her in the weeks after her return when he had spent most of his time with the Dragon Queen instead of her but he vowed to make up for it soon enough._

_She raised her arms to him and he carried her out of the tub, picking up a towel and wiping her down with it. Her body was still on the cusp of all the changes. It had only been a moon since she had flowered and her breasts were still budding, her mound smooth. He put her on her feather bed, covered her in furs, and wrapped his arms around her from behind, nose in her hair. He buried all the questions he wanted to ask her as he fought the tears prickling in his own eyes at the misery he felt for their situation, for all he needed at that moment was to know that she was safe in his arms. They stayed that way for what seemed like for ever, until Arya's breaths evened out and Jon felt compelled to leave her as his duties called for him once more, stealing him away from her._

It had been a stolen moment, like a half-remembered dream that still lingered on in the space between sleeping and waking, even many years after.

Her body looked more like a child-woman now, the curves of her breasts small but full, just right for her lithe body. Her stiff nipples were little as well, halfway between pink and brown. She was still skinny, although her arms and legs were toned with slim muscles. He didn't like the fact that her ribs were too visible against her skin, that she obviously hadn't been fed well in her journeys. Her stomach was flat and on her sides, her curves were lovely as it tapered at her waist then flared down the bony arc of her hips. He couldn't really see between her legs because her knees were raised but he was sure it looked a little more different now.

The sound of Arya clearing her throat made him look up at her eyes in guilt, his face feeling hot. Nudity had never been a thing between them, from when they were children. But it made him guilty now all the same.

"Aren't you going to join me?" she said, raising a brow at him, a teasing smile on the curve of her lips.

He almost spluttered, the part of him raised with honour in conflict with such an innocent question that made him think of the darker things he had tried to avoid thinking about outside of his bedroom.

 _Would you bed your sister?_  a voice mocked him from the grave.

In his dreams since he rose from the dead, he did. Death had tarnished him and made him a true bastard with base desires, his most private thoughts and dreams full of  _her_. In his dreams, amongst his innocent memories of her, she also took the place of Ygritte in that cave from years ago, when even the wildling woman’s body reminded him of his little sister’s.

In his dreams, he had bedded her again and again and again, causing him to take himself in his hand when awake and shamefully spill himself with her name on his lips. It was the primary reason that compelled him to stay away from her long ago, as he tried vainly to have a normal relationship with the Dragon Queen instead, to escape the guilt of a dark desire that was a sin in the eyes of gods and men. Arya did not deserve his unnatural obsession with her so he treated her only as Robb would have, a brother who was loving but was more concerned with duty.

She rolled her eyes even though she looked amused. "Are you now a blushing maiden? I didn't know men of the Wall were so soft."

Jon couldn't help but laugh a little at her words, his dark thoughts broken by her teasing. He was being stupid. Truthfully, nothing had changed between them beyond what he thought about her in the darkness. She knew nothing about how death had desecrated his love for her, and he will try his best to make sure that she will never find out. They could go back to the way things were, especially now that they will live together again as family.

He started to unlace and pull his tunic off, not wanting her to keep jesting about him and determined to keep things innocent between the two of them. "Are you certain, little sister? There is no septa or sister here to save your propriety."

"Thank the gods!" she said with a grin.

Jon tried not to feel conscious as he unlaced his breeches and pulled it down his legs with his smallclothes, stepping out of them afterwards. He avoided her eyes as he sank down into the hot water awkwardly, as if his body felt too odd, his cock too heavy even in its flaccid state between his legs. He could feel her staring at him in curiosity and he realised she hadn't seen his naked body since he was a boy. He wondered what she thought of it - if she felt odd at all the hair that had sprouted in places it didn't used to a lifetime ago, if she felt horrified at all the scars on his body, ones that had marked him for dead. Dead for _her_.

"You know I'm not your little sister, right?" she said, breaking the brief silence. She was looking down in thought, her face solemn in the soft glow of the kitchen hearth's fire. It almost hurt to look at her as she said this, for he longed so deeply for her. She was so close to him in proximity and yet it still felt like she was so far away.

Jon sighed, not wanting her words to be true but still relieved about it as well. "I know."

"Is that what you want me to be?" she said, looking up at him shyly from beneath her lashes, her grey eyes like liquid pools as the fire's light reflected on them. "Your sister?"

Jon felt pained at her question, not ready to answer it just yet. To stop being her brother felt like a betrayal and in his heart, she will never stop being his little sister. But he loved her in many other ways too, although this was something that he was sure they were both unprepared to talk about at the moment. He looked away from her, remaining silent. In his mind, he saw the witch who was dressed all in red, heard her voice as if she was in the same room as them, staring down at their nakedness with judgment in her eyes.

 _What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister?_ he thought, the words an echo from long ago. His hands fisted in anger at the unfairness of their complicated situation, a frown marring his lips.

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt a splash of water on his face.

“You almost look as if you’re upset that I’m here.” Arya laughed at him as she splashed him once more, breaking him out of his reverie.

Old wounds faded as he remembered being a boy again - he immediately captured her head between his arms and pulled her beneath the water in revenge. He released her just as quickly, grinning as he heard her sputter in indignation with colourful curses in different languages as she broke out of the water, splashing everywhere.

"Jon, if you ever do that again—"

Arya wasn't able to finish that sentence for Jon used his strength against her, pulling her again and trying to repeat the same move. He found himself laughing wildly as he tried to push her head below the water - it was the kind of laughter that made his belly ache, something he hadn't done since he was a boy who did silly japes with her. She put up a good fight this time, with excited exuberance, but in the end, he changed tactics, pulling her close and tickling her sides instead. It caused her to shriek in wild laughter and he felt giddy at hearing it, a grin on his lips.

Jon only stopped tickling her when he felt the curve of her breast sliding against his own chest and it made him pause, staring down at her wide eyes. She looked down slowly, glancing from his eyes to his lips before swallowing audibly and looking up again at him, this time with naked longing.

She felt good in the circle of his arms and the sound of her laughter from moments ago warmed him. It was just like the days when just his fond memories of her laughter had warmed him on his coldest moments at the Wall when they had been apart. But now that she was here to laugh with him, the warmth of it reached him to his core, melting away the cold decay that had festered since he had died.

Jon knew he needed to pull away from her but his body wouldn't move. He felt a stirring down below and to counter this, he tried to think of mundane and boring things. But every fibre of his being wanted to touch her as his Targaryen blood demanded, as a brother touched a sister. And more than that, he wanted to love her the way that she deserved to be loved.

He had always cherished her, even when she was still only elbows, knees, and tangled hair. But now, even without the dark obsessive dreams he's had of her for the past few years, her slim curves and the smiles that were meant only for him stirred a desire in him that burned like wildfire.

 _Family, duty, honour_ \- these childhood lessons were lost as all he thought about was possessing her. Worse still, his Targaryen urges were magnified by the madness that had been with him since his death, his blood calling for him to call her his little sister as he touched and ravished -

His thoughts were broken when Arya stepped back slightly and reached out to a small bench beside the tub, picking up a bar of soap and dunking it beneath the hot water. She had a shy, tentative smile as she reached up and touched his hair, lathering it with soap that smelled like oranges. It felt very good. He smiled down at her in encouragement. Her small hands were skilled at massaging his scalp, his face and beard, then the sides of his neck, causing him to groan softly in pleasure.

As she slowly rubbed his shoulders with her slippery hands, he resisted the urge to pull her closer and instead took the soap from her, reaching up to lather her own hair. He ran his soapy fingers through the wet strands over and over, untangling the knots and savouring the sweet scent of flowers and fruit from the bath oil and soap. He noted how long her locks had gotten, cascading down her shoulders and falling down across her breasts.

Arya watched him curiously from beneath her lashes as he touched her gently but her eyes were dark, as if she too was affected by their intimate closeness and nudity. She was biting her bottom lip and he resisted the urge to touch them, to bite them with his own teeth. Picking up a wooden dipper from the side, he poured warm water over their heads one at a time, suds mixing with the water. He looked at her again as he blinked away the water from his eyes, a warm smile just for her as he felt clean, warm, and contented.

”You’re beautiful, Arya,” Jon found himself saying, not meaning to utter the words aloud. He stared at her lovely face, her darkened grey eyes and glistening lips. He avidly followed the way that water droplets slid down the column of her pale neck and settled in the hollow of her collarbones. Her nipples were stiff, jutting out from her breasts. She was breathing shallowly, and he could see the way that her heart was beating fast against her chest.

When he looked back up at her face, Arya was smiling back but there was doubt in her eyes. “You say that because I’m probably your favourite sister, mayhaps even your favourite cousin.”

Jon remembered all of a sudden the childhood taunts that had drove her to tears, as she always ran straight into his arms after their bullying words had hurt her too much.

 _Arya_   _Horseface_ , the other girls had called her - Sansa and her friends. Jon had soothed Arya as she had cried, wondering why anyone could be cruel to her with lies. She had always been beautiful to him and even as a boy, he had observed that the older men had always looked at her with fond melancholy for she was said to be the likeness of her aunt who had long passed away, whose legendary beauty had caused a great war.

”War was fought in your name,” Jon said, surprising himself as he voiced his thoughts aloud. He reached out and gently cupped her face between his hands, wanting her to see the truth in his eyes. “Just like my dear lady mother when Robert and Rhaegar had their war, the North rallied in your name as we took Winterfell back from the Boltons. You are important and you are beautiful.”

”But you died,” Arya said in a small voice, reaching out to place a trembling hand against the scar in front of his heart. It made him shiver at her touch, for she had always owned that part of him. His heart and hers beat as one. If anyone would wound her, he would be wounded twice over. Her hand was warm, soothing something deeply broken inside his chest.

”For you,” he whispered his confession for the first time, watching her eyes widen in shock. “I broke my vows because I couldn’t bear it, the thought that Ramsay had you for a bride. My black brothers murdered me for it.”

”You died for me?” Arya said, her voice breaking. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she looked devastated.

”I would die a thousand times over for you.” he said to her, meaning it.

It was as if something in Arya broke all of a sudden as she fell forward, wracked sobs making her tremble as her forehead pressed against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her hair.

Her hands closed into fists and she beat them against his chest in fury, not to hurt but to rage. "Why would you die for me? Why would you die at all? I would have been alone in the world! I wish I had died in your place!"

"Never say that!" he hissed at her as he held her closer, shutting his eyes as he tried to soothe her pain away. He would have felt the same thing if she had died in his place. "Arya, it would have broken me if you had experienced what I had."

"But I caused it! Do you know how many deaths I have caused?" she exclaimed in anger and frustration against his skin. Her tears were hot against his chest. "I don't deserve you. After everything I've done, how could you still want me?"

He leaned down and kissed her forehead, his lips lingering on her skin. "Everything that you've done in the past, no matter how horrible, has brought you back home. It made you strong enough to return to me. And here we are."

"You don't understand," she said, still not looking up at him. "There are many things you still don't know about me. I wanted to tell you back in Winterfell but there wasn't any time."

"And for that, I am sorry." he said, feeling regret. Duty had reigned over love back in those days. Duty had been the death of love. He had hurt her by not being present. After years of praying to the old gods for her safe return, his prayers were answered, bringing her home. She had been a gift to him from the gods but he had spat in their faces, as he had neglected her.

It had been a complicated affair for he had already knelt and sworn fealty to the Dragon Queen before they had even reunited. On the day when they saw each other again in the godswood, he realised his grave error. The Dragon Queen could never have his heart for it had already belonged to someone else, to his dear little sister.

It had caused a madness in him in the days when war loomed ever closer. Every moment of every day, he wanted to run to Arya, hold her tight and never let go. His thoughts and desires turned dark as he still kept dreaming of her nearly every night, and to distract the monster that dwelled beneath his skin that called for her, he tried to spend as much time with the Dragon Queen as possible, ignoring the sister who looked at him with painful longing and sadness. How could he want Arya in carnal ways when she was his sister? Lord Eddark Stark had raised him with honour despite being a bastard. He was not a Targaryen.

And then, as if his life was a cruel jape, he found out that he was in fact a Targaryen and a madness for his most cherished sister was as innate to him as dragons breathing fire. His devotion to her as pack increased tenfold, driving him to rave at the gods. Like a wolf, he wanted to rut her, and like a dragon prince longing for his sister, he wanted to take her maidenhead for himself.

"I will give you anything, Jon." she said in a whisper then as if reading his thoughts, just like when they were children. Her breath was hot on his skin and he felt his self-control waning despite his good intentions to keep their relationship innocent. "I am yours."

Jon pulled away from her slightly so that he could look at her better. He wondered if she knew what she was offering to him. She still had tears running down her face so he gently wiped them away with the pads of his fingers. He took a deep breath and stood, pulling her up while she was still in the circle of his arms and causing rivulets of water to drip down from their bodies. Her skinny arms almost didn't let go of his neck as he stepped out of the tub. He held out a hand and helped her out as well, trying not to look too closely at the arousing sight of her as she emerged naked from the tub. Picking up their towels, he led her to to the furs in front of the roaring fire with a trembling hand at the base of her spine. 

He gazed at her sideways from the corner of his eyes as they both dried off. He was in awe of her as they put their wet towels aside, standing naked in front of one another for the first time in years. She had changed so much, just like him. She stood in front of him now as a young Northern warrior princess of surpassing loveliness, with a lonely mysterious past and far too many secrets, but still undeniably  _his_. 

He marvelled at the way that the glow of the flames danced wonderfully on the paleness of her skin. She was so lithe and everything about her felt fresh, young, and pretty, even though she was lethal underneath it all. She was precious to him, standing there and gazing up at him with her familiar devotion and long-lasting love. He focused on her form again, drinking in her nudity. He focused briefly on her small breasts with the pretty little nipples, then studied the faded scars that quickened the beat of his heart as he longed to hear the stories behind them later on. His gaze then trailed lower, drawn to the dip between her thighs. He sucked in a breath as he found that her little cunt was bare like the last time he’d seen it, and it stirred a want in him that was different from before.

There had been a time when they had talked about how women should shave their body hair, when they had been but children. This revelation about Arya having a smooth cunt when she was nearly a woman grown made him feel a queer sensation in the pit of his stomach. Her lovely slit looked more pronounced now, pretty and attractive in its exposure.

”On my final days in Braavos,” she said, breaking the silence to explain as she saw him looking at her cunt. “I was a mermaid, training from the best courtesans in the world. It was customary to look this way in that world, something I’ve adapted since I appreciated its aesthetics.”

He looked up abruptly, fear gripping him as his heart almost seemed to stop. He imagined the horror of it and realised that during the time when he thought that she was in Ramsay’s bed, she was instead being perversely groomed to be a whore in a different continent, where he had no hope to reach her or protect her.

”Did they force you?” he whispered, feeling like a dagger had been plunged into his heart as he feared the worst.

She cocked her head to the side and all of a sudden, her emotions disappeared behind an impassive mask. This ability to hide herself from him alarmed him, made him feel as if a part of her was forever lost to him because of all of her secrets. She shrugged, as if she didn’t care. As if this wasn’t even the worst that had happened to her. “It was just training.”

 _Training?_  Jon thought as he gritted his teeth in frustration.  _What the hell kind of people would train a child to become a courtesan?_

She was lying, he was sure of it. Her words gave him no comfort. She did not look ready to divulge any more details about her time in Braavos though and he would not push her. One day, he wanted to know all of her secrets but he will give her time.

This didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt him to hear this about her past - it didn’t stop the feeling of helplessness and anger as he was unable to do anything about it, not then and certainly not now. This had happened in her horrible childhood, like most everything else that he hadn’t been able to protect her from.

”If you must know, I lost my maidenhead at Winterfell, not Braavos.” she said quickly as she sensed his unhappiness, as if her words would reassure him.

The monster inside him howled in fury at her words and he forced himself to not to let it show on his face. He was shocked to hear it, because he had been longing for her in Winterfell himself, even though he had been with the Dragon Queen at the time. Ignored by her beloved brother for a foreign queen after going through unspeakable horrors to get back home to him, this must have drove her to another man’s arms - a mummer for a lover, a poor substitute. His mood darkened and he wanted to break something.

”Who was it?” he asked softly, trying to sound gentle instead.

”Gendry,” she whispered hesitantly, her eyes looking away as it clouded over in memories. There was a hint of a very small smile on her lips before she frowned and looked at him again. “Lord Gendry Baratheon now. Of Storm’s End.”

He couldn’t help it. His mind was filled with a flurry of images, as he remembered the tall muscular smith who looked like the spitting image of his king father Robert Baratheon when he had been younger and leaner, the man who was once betrothed to Jon’s lady mother. He imagined the black-haired bastard touching his little sister, running his dirty hands over her soft curves, and breaking her maidenhead with his cock, as if she was his.

He wanted to throttle the bastard’s throat with his hands, the same way that he had Ramsay Bolton’s. Arya Stark’s maidenhead was a prize of great value and for a mere bastard to dishonour her while she had been under Jon’s protection as her King brother was unforgivable.

Did the bastard not think about how he had wronged her by taking away her future prospects? Even if Arya had been the one who had initiated it, it took two to consummate an illicit affair. Jon had given the bastard a roof over his head, steady employment, food from his table, and all his other needs as he became a part of his castle’s retinue. For him to steal away what was most precious to Jon...

 _You’re mine_ , the monster inside him roared in fury as his cock filled with blood, thickening and lengthening as it rose against the muscles of his abdomen. It hurt so much to want her now. Every part of him longed to touch her and claim her before he lost her again.

She glanced down in surprise at his erection, the precarious sibling barrier they had suddenly broken so easily by his physical reaction. She didn’t look disgusted though as she looked up to meet his eyes. Her heated gaze only held a playful challenge as she smiled up at him with interest.

 _Seven Hells!_  he thought as his eyes narrowed in confusion at the lust in her eyes.  _Is it really this simple? Have I tormented myself for years only for you to return my desire so easily?_

It was the final straw, the last thing that broke his self-control. There was nothing he could have done as the darkness inside him urged him to move forward, pressing his hard body against hers.

Jon cradled the back of her head as he leaned down and captured her lips with his own, fiercely at first as their mouths crashed together and then sweetly soon after as he felt her tilting her head to the side, her lips opening up against his. Her wet velvety tongue tasted sweet as he licked against it, just like honey, and it made him dizzy. Her skinny arms wrapped up around his neck and he pulled her up against his body so that she stood on the tips of her toes. He squeezed the firm roundness of her arse and tentatively rocked his aroused manhood against her smooth center. Feeling its hot slickness as it rubbed against his cock made him groan in lust. In turn, he made her moan inside his mouth, causing his cock to twitch in excitement.

Arya was wet, he realised, and it made him grin against her lips. He was obsessed with her tight body, especially the slippery slit between her legs. The feel of it against his cock drove him mad. He lifted her up higher, hands lifting her from under her slim thighs as he urged her to hold on tighter to his neck with her arms and wrap her legs tightly around his waist as their tongues danced like dragons inside their mouths. She was very light as he carried her, and he was tempted to drive his cock inside her core right that instant.

Instead, he kept kissing her and making her moan for as long as he could until she couldn’t hold her breath anymore, pulling away. When they parted with a gasp, her lips looked bruised, glistening in their shared saliva. Her cheeks were flushed and her pupils were dark with desire as she looked at him with needy hunger.

”Are you going to rut your little sister now?” she asked, her voice teasing.

Jon growled deeply as he felt like a direwolf beast, unable to stop himself from doing so. “I’ve wanted to do so for years, Arya.”

She sucked in a breath at his horrible confession but it seemed as if it aroused her more, as she lightly bit then sucked on his bottom lip. ”Please,” she said in a soft wolf-like growl of her own, wantonly rutting her little body against his, her slippery core rubbing up against his abdominal muscles. She leaned closer to lick the shell of his ear then whispered darkly, “Fuck me, big brother.”

They were like a prayer to his demonic soul, and the monster inside him felt like it had finally been released from its hellish prison.

Jon lowered her body in front of the roaring fire of the hearth, drawing back to drink in the sight of her pale smoothness and lithe curves against the dark furs.

”Mine,” he whispered as his hands touched her breasts, which were just the right size for her slight build. He squeezed them gently, noting the way that they looked a little smaller as she lay down. Her nipples were stiff despite the warmth of the fire. They looked perfect too, pinkish-brown in hue and small in shape. He leaned down to lick one, and rolled the other between the pads of his fingers.

"Yes," she moaned as he suckled her nipple between his teeth. "There."

He switched sides after several heartbeats, this time suckling on the other breast as his hand trailed down her flat stomach, briefly feeling the curve of her skinny waist before cupping her between her legs. It was so slick, and squeezing it slightly with his fingers made her whimper as her hips lifted up to meet his touch.

”Please,” she whined, want and frustration in her voice. “Jon, please.”

Jon pulled back to peer down at her. She looked absolutely wrecked as she rocked against his hand, her eyes shut tight.

”Look at me,” he commanded hotly, not wanting her to see anyone else in her mind. Her grey eyes were dilated when she opened them, so dark with want as she stared up at him.

Satisfied at her reaction, he kneeled between her legs and pushed her knees up, parting her thighs and watching as her core was exposed to his eyes. Like her body and her breasts, she was small here too, smooth yet flushed as her little bud was swollen in desire. He reached down and parted her folds open with his calloused thumbs, drinking in the sight of how pink she was on the inside, and how very wet for him. He sucked in a breath at how deeply he felt at being able to have the right to touch her this way, to look at this secret part of her that was now his.

Jon had seen her naked countless times before but never this intimately. Feeling like outcasts from their siblings, they took to the woods together in secret whenever they wanted to escape, he being Aemon the Dragonknight and she being Nymeria the Warrior-Queen. Sometimes when it was warm enough, they swam naked in streams and pools then lay down together on the grass to dry off in the sun, staring up at the clouds and whispering their dreams and secrets to each other. Sometimes they were just curious, watching each other in wonder.

Even so young, he knew every part of her skinny body, the only girl he’s ever seen naked in their childhood. He had memorised all the little spots and marks in her body as he’d counted them innocently numerous times, from head to toe. He had seen her little slit dozens of times when they were children, as she has seen his cock before he became a man grown. It was their way. All their childhood secrets were like a language of its own, something only the two of them would understand, borne from love, acceptance and devotion to one another when everyone else had looked down at them and had found them lacking. It became the foundation of comfort, security and strength in their long and difficult separation, and the absence only made them grow fonder for each other.

Jon looked up from the sight of her beautiful pink cunt that was quivering with the need to be touched. He focused instead on the depths of her grey eyes, wanting to be sure that she wanted what he wanted, and saw nothing but love and devotion from her.

”My king,” she whispered to him in affection, her face flushed at the attention he’d given to her most intimate parts. “Brother, cousin. Whatever you want me to be, I’m yours. I’ve been yours for as long as I could remember.”

”I’m yours as well,” he vowed to her, “Always.”

He drew himself up to kiss her again, drowning in the moment, when soul met soul on lover’s lips.  _You are mine, and I am yours._

He kissed her everywhere, obsessively and passionately, from the top of her head to her ankles and feet, counting each remembered mark and spot that he'd known since childhood and memorising the new unfamiliar scars on her skin with his lips. He barely resisted the urge to push his cock inside her warm inviting slit every time their intimate parts touched. The soft noises from her throat was like music to his ears, and he loved the firm grip she had on his hair and the way she squirmed with wanton pleasure as his tongue worshipped every inch of her.

When he finally lapped at her swollen bud, she was almost sobbing at the intense pleasure after the endless teasing, her thighs trembling around his head. She tasted lovely down there and he licked her eagerly, savouring her like a man in hunger. He loved licking around her folds again and again then teasing up against her bud and sucking on it gently, making her sigh his name like a prayer.

But Jon could hardly refrain from doing what he had always wanted to do in his darkest dreams, pushing his tongue inside her slick folds and penetrating as deep as he possibly could, making her gasp and cry out as she thrashed her small body against the dark furs beneath her. He looked up and was pleased to see that she was watching him heatedly, her eyes burning with raw emotion - a mirror of his own obsession. Her face was flushed and she was breathing deeply. Her hair was a rumpled mess, still damp from the bath - she was perfect.

He gripped her hips tightly, fingers tight enough to bruise her. He made himself let go of his control as he fucked her with his tongue, fast and furious, making her cry out each time with every thrust in and out. He reached up to wrap his fingers around her slippery bud too, stroking it each time he drove his tongue inside her. Her scent was so intoxicating, just like the flavour of the nectar that flowed out from her. She was shaking beneath him, her moans so sweet. Sooner than he expected, he felt her cunt quivering, tightening even more as it gripped his tongue: the crescendo of her orgasm mounting as her hands pulled on his hair. Her whole body was strung out, tense as she let out one final cry as she came on his tongue.

“Jon!” she whined, unshed tears in her eyes at the overwhelming sensations that he had put her through. When she finished shuddering, he pulled his tongue out of her slit and pulled himself up to hover over her with a satisfied smile. She looked like a mess, hair tangled and skin glistening with a sheen of sweat. She was his beautiful mess, just  _his_.

He leaned down to kiss her, letting her taste her juices on his tongue. She squirmed, her nose wrinkling at it. He pulled back to laugh, heartened at such a childish response.

“Shut up, stupid!” she said, making him laugh even more as he recalled the familiar insult from their childhood. She looked annoyed as she rolled her eyes at him. But then her eyes darkened as she grinned playfully, reaching down to close her hands around his cock.

He groaned, eyes glazing over at the feel of her fingers around his thickness. She laughed darkly as she started to stroke him, pulling back the foreskin as her thumbs rubbed the wet tip of the head. He could hardly contain himself as his breathing quickened. Growling, he pushed at her hands in impatience, grasping both of her wrists above her head. He pressed the head of his cock at her entrance, his eyes on hers.

”Yours,” they vowed together, surprising each other as they had the same thought and said the same thing, reminiscent of how they used to always finish each other’s sentences.

Jon pressed his aching cock inside her warm and drenched core, hissing because she was so tight around him.

”Little sister,” he whispered, watching his length disappearing slowly inside her slick little hole, stretching it wide. He felt so hot, sweat dripping down from his forehead at the intensity of the sensations, his pulse so quick beneath his skin. “Are you well?”

”Jon,” she whimpered, through gritted teeth. “If you don’t start moving, I’m going to stick  _you_  with the pointy end!”

His shoulders convulsed as he couldn't help but laugh, at the little sister who drove him insane enough to make him take her as a lover. He granted her wish and let himself go, moving in earnest as he fucked her with wild abandon. She was an arousing sight with her mouth open, her breasts bouncing with each of his thrusts. She felt so good around him, gripping him tight as he kept impaling her. He watched in awe at their connected bodies, his cock going in and out of her pretty little cunt.

When he glanced up to look at her face, she was lost too, knowing only pleasure as she moaned unintelligible words with each powerful thrust from his hips. He slowed his pace and leaned down to capture her lips in a kiss, their rutting turning into lovemaking, until they both convulsed nearly at the same time, the pleasure and emotions too much to bear.

They cried each other’s names at the same time as she shuddered her orgasm, tightening even more around his cock just as he spilled his seed deep into her womb.

Panting, they stared at each other as if waking from a dream, even as their bodies were still connected. Arya smiled up at him with affection and he felt heartened, smiling back at her too. Tenderly, he leaned down and their lips met once again, a silent promise for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Sorry for the longer wait than usual in between chapters. I've been on holiday so had no time for writing and editing. I wrote most of it before my trip but I couldn't get the chapter right until just recently after a lot of editing. It's difficult to get these two to break the barrier and just go for it. I hope I did them justice. I should have more time to write soon.  
> (2) Things between Jon and Arya have progressed far too quickly! Sorry about that. I figured that book canon had done most of the legwork already. There are barely any boundaries between them now that they share a living space so...  
> (3) I wanted Jon to make the first move. It's obvious that Arya reciprocates the love but I have such a fondness for Jon being dominant. I especially love dark and feral resurrected Jon who is a little bit obsessed with Arya.  
> (4) It is foreshadowed that Arya will become a femme fatale despite her age in the next ASOIAF book. She will most likely be trained as an apprentice courtesan too.  
> (5) In ASOIAF, Jon and Arya did talk about how Septa Mordane should shave since she was so hairy lol. I imagine that the courtesans in Braavos had a strict grooming culture as well since they are renown for being the best in the world. Probably most of them removed body hair.  
> (6) Season 8 missed an opportunity for Jon to go feral against another bastard (Ramsay being the first) who was getting handsy with his favourite little sister. I wonder what would happen if Jon saw Gendry again in this fic lol.  
> (7) In ASOIAF, war was being rallied for Valiant Ned's little girl. The North will rise up and unite against the Boltons in Arya Stark's name, never mind that it was actually Jeyne Poole locked up in Winterfell. Why was this discarded by D&D? Oh that's right, they don't understand how important Arya is politically.  
> (8) Let me know what you all think! I hope it's not too explicit lol. Jon and Arya may have gone overboard. They’re just making up for lost time after all haha.


	6. Feral Sins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Title has changed to reflect a shift in the future of the plot. New title reflects Jon and Arya better, I think.  
> (2) Includes spoilers from ASOIAF's Winds of Winter.  
> (3) Some explicit parts again. Be forewarned.

**Arya Stark**

She felt elated at what had happened between her and Jon, and she could barely stop grinning as Jon hastily removed the pot of stew from the fire, almost burning their supper. They had tidied a little after washing themselves again at the tub and putting on sleeping tunics. Arya hung their wet towels next to the fire and put away their soiled travelling clothes in a wicker basket while Jon went to close the shutters to all the windows, so as to protect them from the biting cold of the night.

She was a little sore between the legs, but it was a good sort of ache. It had been far too long since she had been properly fucked. Jon had been a little bit rough but she had loved every second of it. Even now, she could still feel as if his cock was still inside her, as if his seed was still leaking out. She watched him curiously over the delicious bowl of stew that he had given her. They were at the table, sitting with their backs close to the fire, a companionable silence between them as they ate.

Arya was a little bit confused, even as she was quite happy at the turn of events. She had never thought that Jon would ever want her in that way. Has it just been a long time since Jon had bed a woman? She knew that Jon had had great standards of beauty for his paramours - a violet-eyed and silver-haired Queen of love and beauty who was the mother of dragons, and from the stories she’d heard, a dangerous wildling woman who was beautiful as she was lethal, her tresses kissed by fire. Arya, in comparison, was just his plain and ugly little sister: there was nothing special at all about her - maybe Jon could only bed her because he loved her.

"What are you thinking of?" Jon asked her, as he set his spoon down on his empty bowl and poured them both mugs of wildling cider.

"Nothing important." she said with a careless shrug. She finished her stew quietly before sipping on the cider. It tasted like apples, sweet and fizzy, as if it had not fermented for long. She drank most of it in one go, thinking nothing of it.

"Thirsty? Do you want more?"

Arya gave him a meaningful look as she smirked playfully. "You don't have to get me drunk if you want something from me, Jon."

Jon choked as he sipped from his mug, his face contorting in a way that made her laugh. Arya reached over to pat him on the back, quietly marvelling at how broad it was and how warm it felt beneath her hand.

"You're cruel to me sometimes." he said, shaking his head as he grinned back at her.

She grinned back but said nothing else, stifling a yawn as she suddenly felt flushed, her head feeling a little bit cloudy. The cider must've been stronger than she had realised, or mayhaps it was the heaviness of the meal that Jon had prepared for them for she was used to eating more like a bird while she had been on the road. Or maybe she just felt safe for once, especially after nearly two moons of hard riding from the banks of Ironman's Bay to this secret village in the Frostfangs of the True North. She had barely slept on the long arduous journey, her nights either plagued by nightmares or comforted by wolf dreams - her mind, always busy. Even while feeling the fatigue of travel, she had stopped only to rest her horse or attempt to sleep for the night. All she had wanted was to go home to Jon.

"Bedtime, I think," Jon said abruptly, rising and collecting their bowls, mugs, and spoons. He washed them with soap, rinsed them in a stone basin of fresh water, and wiped them dry afterwards. "The garderobe is to the right as you know."

She rose tiredly to take care of her business in the garderobe. Afterwards, she cleaned her teeth with the bristles she had roughly fashioned after the Braavosi one she used to have, gargling with a minty alcoholic tincture afterwards. When she was done, she found Jon building a fire in his chambers and she wondered where to get more firewood for her own room. She quietly stood at his doorway, unsure of herself as she stared at the way that his back muscles stretched against his blue sleeping tunic.

"Come in," he said, the low timbre of his voice gentle. "Your place is next to mine."

She raised her eyes to meet his when she realised that he was looking at her over his shoulder. "Is that for true? Do you not have a lady of the house living with you?"

His eyes squinted as he looked at her in confusion. As if he saw something in her face that he wasn't happy with, he frowned and stood, moving close to her. She looked up at him, holding her ground as she realised how small she still was compared to him despite the fact that she had been growing taller every year. He just huffed before leaning down to wrap his arms around her knees as he picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder with a playful whack on her rear and depositing her in the middle of his feather bed. She cuffed him on the arm in indignation as she landed, even as she couldn't suppress a laugh.

"I've been cold for so long," he said, his voice playful and also dark with barely contained desire as he hovered over her on the bed, his legs on either side of her. "Keep me warm?"

"Fine! But only because you asked nicely enough." she said, hiding a grin as she buried her bare legs under the furs.

Jon gave her a quick kiss on the lips before backing away, looking amused as he left the room to go to the garderobe as well.

Arya lay her head on a pillow, staring up at the wooden beams of the ceiling to watch the play of light from both the burning logs in the hearth and the lit candles at Jon's table. It was hard to believe that she was here now and that this was home. She never thought she'd ever have a home again. That Jon had built this house and that he wanted to share it with her had been the greatest gift and she would never forget it.

 _Home,_ she thought.

And for the first time in a long time, she remembered: Winterfell with its grey walls and the warm people that lived inside, Father and Mother stealing a kiss from each other during meals in the great hall when they thought no one was watching, Robb and Theon laughing together as they spoke in hushed voices about the girls in Winter Town, Sansa singing sweetly about a lady fair as she was sewing next to her, Bran bravely climbing the stone walls of a tower, and baby Rickon giggling as she spun him around the snow-covered courtyard.

And of course, the most special one: Jon with his solemn Northern face, kind grey eyes, and brown hair that was just like hers. They had been the only ones with the Stark looks among children that all looked like her mother, like the Tullys. He had always been the one she ran to when she was scared or lonely, or even if she was happy. Jon with his sweet smile just for her and his warm laughter at her little japes. They could always finish each other’s sentences, and knew each other’s secrets. Jon with his ready arms as she slipped into his bed at night, after a nightmare. Jon who she loved most of all from the moment she was born and will always love long after her dying breath.

They had all been so happy once, such sweet summer children. It felt like a lifetime ago. The years after she went on the Kings Road to journey south with her father had become a blur of blood, hunger, agony and tears. She was no longer a summer child and had become something else. If her father and mother could see her now, they would be so sad that she couldn't even remember how many people she had killed, that she even had to. She still remembered the first one though: the young stableboy who wanted to turn her in.

 _Stick them with the pointy end,_  was the only lesson she could remember as the boy came to capture her, armed with a pitchfork. Only Jon's first lesson stuck with her in her fear, all of Syrio Forel's teachings forgotten in a heartbeat. _Jon protected me even then._

And yet, the boy's plain face remained with her for many years. He had been but a child, like her and like her friend Mycah. She had stolen his young life from his own family that day, just like they had stolen Jory’s and the rest of her father’s men. That night, the boy's father and mother would wonder what had happened to him when he didn't come home on time. She will never forget his accusing eyes as she ran away, knowing he was about to die.

She turned to her side, chewing on her bottom lip and looking at the way that her hands fisted on the pillow, the hands of a murderer. How could Jon accept her so easily when she could barely accept herself with all her sins?

She heard his footsteps and closed her eyes as the bed dipped and he slipped behind her, pressing himself against her back, his body warming hers. He wrapped an arm around her waist, reaching over to kiss her, his beard scratching her cheek. Her doubt vanished for the moment and she felt herself breathing easier, surrounded by his warm comforting scent. She twined her hand with his and closed her eyes, feeling herself slowly surrendering to the exhaustion that had been chasing her since she had set foot in the continent of Westeros so many weeks ago.

 _Safe_ , she thought before drifting off to sleep.  _Safe at last._

***

She was warm, drifting in and out of sleep. 

_The wind on her wet nose was biting and beneath her paws were snows as deep as rivers. Beside her, Ghost bit at her ear playfully before bounding off ahead, forcing her to run faster. It was a game and she was happy. Her cousins had never kept up with her. These frozen lands called to her blood, her instinct. This was where she belonged, with her brother, in the deepest North._

_Heat flooded her whole body with each heartbeat as they ran together, causing her to bark excitedly at Ghost, baring her fangs. Ghost sniffed the air curiously and turned his head in answer, and in his blood-red eyes she could see the fierce need to claim her, just as his human kin had done to her own._

Arya woke up with a smile, shivering despite the warmth of the bed as if she could still feel the snows in the Lands of Always Winter. Her body thrummed with heat, pooling between her legs, but it was faint, fading like the wolf dream. It was still dark, but the glowing embers at the hearth and the candle’s flame that burned low on the table lit the room. She could feel Jon beside her still, his breathing deep and even, as he was still in slumber.

A cold gust of wind suddenly rattled the shutters of the window and the candle’s flame was extinguished as a result, the room becoming darker. She reached for a weapon in a panic, for either Cat's Paw or Needle, but remembered that she had left them both in the other room. She squinted her eyes as she could see that the full moon's glow slipped in through a gap between the curtains. It was an odd moon though, blood red in colour.

She didn't even hear him enter the room but suddenly he was there at the side of the bed, staring down at her with cruel eyes as blue as she remembered it: the _Night King_.

Suddenly, she found that her whole body couldn't move, frozen as he reached down and crushed her throat with his powerful hands. He was going to kill her and there was nothing she could do. The pain was so intense but it also felt like a familiar friend. She succumbed to darkness soon enough as she always did, and when she awoke, she was back in _that other_ room:

_The smell of blood was heavy in her nostrils._

Mercy, _she thought._ I’m Mercy, and tonight I’ll be raped and murdered.

_She had fastened the shutters back so the morning sun might wake her. But there was no sun outside the window of Mercy’s little room, only a wall of shifting grey fog. The air had grown chilly. And a good thing, else she might have slept all day. It would be just like Mercy to sleep through her own rape._

_The scene seemed to rush forward and soon, she found herself in front of the mummer dwarf Bobono as he grabbed at her chest, fumbling for a nipple. “You have no titties. How can I rape a girl with no titties?”_

_And then, he disappeared suddenly, replaced by two men from Westeros._

_The younger of the two was giving her nipple a tweak through the fabric of her dress. “Mummers are the next best thing to whores.”_

_“Might be, but this one is a child.” said the older man._

_“I am not,” lied Mercy. “I’m a maiden now.”_

_“Not for long,” said the younger one. “I’m Lord Rafford, sweetling, and I know just what I want. Hike up those skirts now, and lean back against that wall.”_

_Soon they were alone together and he was grabbing her wrist. “I’ll do the teaching. Time for your first lesson.” He pulled her hard against him and kissed her on the lips, forcing his tongue into her mouth. It was all wet and slimy, like an eel. Mercy licked it with her own tongue, then broke away from him, breathless. He was pulling her roughly to him._

_“Mercy,” she said. “My name is Mercy. Can you say it?”_

_“Mercy,” he said. “My name is Raff.”_

_“I know.” She slipped her hand between his legs, and felt how hard he was through the wool of his breeches._

_“The laces,” he urged her. “Be a sweet girl and undo them.” Instead, she slid her finger down along the inside of his thigh. He gave a grunt. “Damn, be careful there, you — “_

_Raff the Sweetling looked up sharply as the long thin blade came sliding from her sleeve. She slipped it through his throat beneath the chin, twisted, and ripped it back out sideways with a single smooth slash. A fine red rain followed, and in his eyes the light went out._

_“Valar morghulis,” Arya whispered, but Raff was dead and did not hear._

And then she was back in _that_ room again, the true room, with Jon still warm beside her. Icy hands were no longer around her throat, choking her. But the cold blue eyes were still there, at the doorway of the room. The Night King watched her, the same way he had been doing so for the past three years. But tonight, his eyes were laughing as he turned to look at the man who slept beside her, haunting blue gaze full of malicious intent.

***

Arya gasped awake, her whole body shaking as she felt around her in panic, looking for a weapon with one hand while the other touched her neck. The mark had been a mere bruise physically but in truth, it never disappeared; it was beneath her skin, an ancient magic, just like the mark that had been on her brother Bran's arm. She reached for Nymeria and felt a brief chill of winter wind before shaking her head and turning to Jon. He was still asleep, thankfully, unaware of what had nearly torn her heart apart. She will not let him be harmed by her night terrors. On her honour as a Stark, she would keep her vow to be his sworn shield. As long as she was alive, no harm would ever come to him if she could help it.

 _The Night King is dead_ , she thought. _He can not hurt me. He will not hurt Jon!_

Her heart was like a tiny bird rattling against a cage, wanting to be let out. Her whole body was in a cold sweat. She tried to latch on to her other dreams - Nymeria, Mercy.

 _Mercy it is_ , she thought, almost wanting to laugh bitterly. It wouldn't be right to ever let the Night King taint her direwolf.

She shut her eyes as she let the memories fill her mind:

The Satin Palace was a lavish place where the mummer girl became a lovely little mermaid. One could hear the soft rustle of silk gowns and the giggling of girls inside its rooms which were draped with velvet and littered with the softest cushions covered in detailed damask patterns. Silver smoke from incense sticks rose lazily to the high vaulted ceilings, permeating its many rooms with the scent of sandalwood, rose, and lemongrass. There she mastered her graces with the other young mermaids. Gracefully, she danced barefoot across the cool marble floors, sang with a sweet voice, and learned to speak softly, with courtesies in so many languages. They watched her as she perfected her smile, the one that could bend any man to her will. There she learned to become a woman, to use the strength that gentle words and a seductive charm could give her: a different type of weapon. There she was groomed to be a courtesan of worldly renown. Her mother would almost be proud of her feminine achievements if the situation had been different.

The pretty image faded as the darker memories tore through the good.

Bonobo the mummer dwarf touching her flat chest, Raff the sweetling kissing her roughly on the lips, Meryn Trant beating her body then later bleeding all over the brothel floor, practice kisses with the other mermaids, the Black Pearl smiling at her as she touched herself as she’d been taught, men as old as her father caressing her face approvingly and smiling to themselves with dark promises to become her future patrons, a maester parting her folds to look at her maidenhead, and a hall full of wealthy lords and merchants shouting the price for their bids for her maiden's blood...

 _I was barely two and ten and not even flowered,_ she thought sadly.  _At least I escaped in time._

Arya felt a flash of agony as her chest tightened, as if someone was squeezing it. She turned to Jon and clung to him, pressing herself against his body with a quiet desperation. Comfort like this was something she hadn't had for many years and to have it now made her crave it at every turn.

Jon woke quickly at her movements, in a panic, throwing the furs back and moving swiftly on top of her with his teeth bared. She found herself pinned beneath his weight as he looked down at her with murderous eyes, his hands around her neck. She felt only a mild panic though despite this, the relief at having him near stronger. This almost made her want to laugh despite the situation.

 _Jon is here and w_ _e're together._ she thought, her heart soaring despite the agony at her throat as she tried with all her strength to fight his hands off, her nails biting into the skin of his wrists. He was so much stronger than her, she realised, as she stared up painfully at his fierce grey eyes. She instinctively knew he couldn’t even see her right now, that he was reliving something traumatic as well.

All of sudden, Jon's eyes widened as he realised who she was and what he was doing. He let go of her in a hurry, backing away from her in panic and dawning horror. His hands were shaking and he looked so disgusted with himself that it almost seemed like he was going to vomit. Fear and shame burned brightly on his face. He sounded contrite as he whispered to her fiercely, “I’m so sorry, Arya!”

Arya gasped and cleared her throat, breathing deeply as she touched her throat gingerly, a flash of haunting blue eyes mocking her from her nightmares. She shook her head to clear her mind and to reassure Jon. She sat up and gently touched the side of his face, wondering if he had been imagining someone else just now, someone worth choking to death. Anxiously, she reached out to her direwolf as well so as to remind herself that she was a wolf and should be strong for Jon. But it was Nymeria’s throbbing heat that answered, causing her distress to be tainted with feral lust.

"Fuck me," she said in a hoarse voice, needing something primal as she felt adrift in a turbulent sea of emotions. She stared deeply into Jon’s stormy grey eyes as she caressed the lines of his jaw, fingernails grazing through his beard suggestively. "Make me forget."

"Arya," he said, looking down at her sadly even as he shuddered at her teasing. "What do you want to forget? Can you even tell me?"

She shook her head, chewing on her bottom lip. Instead, she reached down and with one easy movement, pulled her sleeping tunic off, offering herself to him.

His eyes darkened as they roamed her naked body intently, the light from the candle and the burning logs at the hearth creating shadows on his handsome face.

She felt herself dampening with desire as his breathing hitched as he continued to stare hungrily at the space between her thighs. It urged her to push at his chest suddenly to make him lie on his back, so that she could get on top of him, straddling him with her legs on each side of his hips. She reached beneath his tunic to feel his naked cock and, finding it rock hard and leaking already, she grasped it between her fingers and positioned the blunt head at her slick entrance as she hovered over him.

“Arya.” Jon grunted hoarsely as he eagerly grabbed her hips, fingers tight. His eyes burned with desire for her, emboldening her.

She sucked in a breath as she pushed herself down against his thick cock, letting it penetrate her slippery entrance, so thick as it rubbed against her sensitive inner walls. Leaning back and parting her thighs further, she rocked slowly up and down with moans she tried vainly to quell, riding his erect manhood with pleasure until she forgot everything else. She liked that he was watching her intently: his mouth open as he panted with low moans, his eyes glazed over with dark lust, and his whole face flushed.

”Little sister,” he would whisper to her encouragingly. Or, more darkly, “Fuck yourself on my cock,” Or, with an adoring smile, “What a pretty cunt you have.”

His filthy words made her lose herself as she cried out every time she drove her hips down, hitting a sinful spot deep inside her.

Far too soon, he became impatient as he sat up, picking her up without effort to cast her aside. He pulled his tunic off then grabbed her again to flip her over. It was so quick that she almost felt dizzy. She found herself pushed face down on the bed, her hips and arse cantered up as if she was a she-wolf. He pushed her legs apart, cool air hitting her burning centre as she felt so exposed, feeling Jon’s hungry eyes devouring the sight of her dripping cunt’s opening. Her aroused little hole trembled, aching as it clenched tightly, needing something to fill it.

Lining the blunt tip of his cock at her sensitive entrance, he pushed in all of a sudden, so deeply that she cried out like an animal in heat, her fingers trying to find purchase at the furs underneath. She could feel him so deeply and his girth stretched her cunt so deliciously. His pace was fast and furious, and it felt so good as it awoke in her something very primal. He rutted her like a wolf, fingers bruising her thighs as she moaned like a bitch in heat. Inside, her juices gushed as she clenched tightly around his thickness.

"Fuck, Arya," Jon groaned from above her, behind her. "Did you crave my cock so much? Why is your pretty cunt so wet?"

Briefly, she looked back at him to see his handsome face alight with the avid need to claim her, his teeth bared like a wolf. In his darkened eyes as it met hers, she could see both the feral lust of the direwolf as well as the burning madness of the dragon. It aroused her even further, this idea that she could cause him to be like this. Between her legs, more slick leaked out as if she too was in heat, just like her direwolf.

"Jon," was all she could say, burying her face against the soft furs on the bed with a groan. She parted her legs even more as all she wanted was for him to keep fucking her. "Don’t stop, big brother."

"Naughty little sister," Jon said hotly, his pace getting even faster and his length going even deeper, making her  _burn_ like wildfire every time his cock hit a very sensitive nerve deep inside her. The pleasure was so intense that she could swear that she could see stars, itchy tears forming at the sides of her eyes. "Come for me, Arya." he whispered hotly against the shell of her ear, making her shiver. She felt him reach down to touch her swollen clit, stroking it in time with his powerful thrusts inside her core. It didn't take long for her to reach new heights of her passion for him, for the elusive moment when her toes curled and her whole body tensed. Her throbbing entrance tightened even more around his thickness as he kept fucking her hard.

He took a few more minutes to finish as her cunt kept convulsing at her orgasm, both of them panting hard. When he came finally, he moaned deeply just as she did. She could feel the vibrations from where they were still connected as his hips stilled. She felt his seed flooding into her body then overflowing, spilling out as he slowly pulled himself out. She was breathing hard against the soft furs beneath her sensitive body as he collapsed next to her, both of them sweaty. He was panting too, face red and dark curls messy. His eyes were dark as he stared affectionately at her from his own pillow.

"I'm sorry I woke you." she couldn't help but say, as she observed the bags under his eyes. She felt stupid now, at how she had been so affected by her night terrors when they weren't even real. Nothing was real but the two of them, together.

Jon laughed tiredly before playfully patting the curve of her rear then reaching between her parted thighs to play with the come around her folds. She bit her lip, barely able to hold herself back from crying out in arousal as he pressed two fingers deep inside her, feeling around the sensitive walls that was drenched with their come until he found her most sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Is this mine now, little sister?" he whispered to her, a teasing look in his eyes as he moved his fingers in and out of her, making her gasp each time he hit that lovely spot.

"You're welcome to it any time." she said, grinning as she bit back a throaty moan that threatened to spill out. She resisted the urge to raise her arse up again to meet his fingers, to present herself like a she-wolf in heat.

"For always?" he asked, the laughter in his eyes dying as he looked at her seriously.

"Always." she vowed to him, meaning it.

Jon closed the distance between them and kissed her on the lips, making her forget about everything else in the world.

He made her come three more times that night, one with his fingers, another with his tongue as he devoured her hungrily, and the last one with his cock lodged so deeply in her throbbing core as he made her scream so loudly that the villagers could probably hear her from so far away. Her eyes were heavy when Jon cleaned her gently between the legs with a damp soft cloth, completely worn out. When she finally fell asleep after, dawn was approaching with a slow sunrise from the peaks of snow-capped mountains from the East. She dreamed no other dark dream as she latched on to Jon's chest, her ear pressed close against his heartbeat.

***

**Jon Snow**

After Arya's breath evened out as she fell asleep, Jon remained awake for a little longer, watching her quietly as he held her close, not wanting to let her go if he could. He wondered what would happen once the morrow came and they would have to face what they had done in the darkness. Would the world be ready to accept them together? To them, he was still Jon Snow, the bastard son of Lord Eddark Stark, and Arya was still his little sister.

North of the Wall, the Free Folk abhorred the idea of bedding their kin. How was he to explain? Did he even have to? If he said nothing, no one would ever know.

South of the Wall, Arya was royalty, not just a Lady but a Princess to two kingdoms. At any point, she could be summoned by her siblings Bran or Sansa, who were both King and Queen in their separate kingdoms. She would have to leave him again if she had to do her duty, as he was unable to leave his exile beyond the Wall. The thought frustrated and angered him.

It felt unfair for the entirety of the lands South of the Wall to only have _Jon Snow_  for a scapegoat after the War of Kings Landing. How was it right for them to strip him of the lands and titles he had fought for and won? The Northern lords rallied for him to be the King of the North despite his reluctance, emboldened by the fact that Robb had chosen him as his heir. Through conquest when he won the Battle of the Bastards, he had paid with blood before he even retook Winterfell. With him as the leader who orchestrated the final defense of the armies of the living against the dead, helping Westeros with his thankless duty, they had the nerve to send him back to the Wall where he had been murdered by the men who used to be his brothers.

Was it because fire and blood had ruined Kings Landing and he was also a Targaryen? Had it just been convenient for Tyrion Lannister to get rid of him too, as if he was also a Targaryen threat?

In truth, it had been Jon who had ended what would have become a Targaryen conquest as he plunged his sword in the Dragon Queen's heart. Tyrion had practically begged him to kill her, even though he had already decided to do so long before he was asked, his reason far more personal.

But in the end, despite Bran Stark taking the crown through the council’s decision, House Lannister had the last laugh as Tyrion once again became the Hand of the new King. He faced no true consequence for his role as the Dragon Queen’s Hand, even though he was supposed to be her second in command and should have been accountable in some way for the ruin of Kings Landing.

In the Northern Kingdom, Tyrion's wife Sansa Lannister was proclaimed as the Queen as she took the crown for herself despite being written out of King Robb's will long ago, usurping Arya's rights as the true heir.

The Lannister husband and wife duo had been key to driving the Dragon Queen to madness as first, Sansa betrayed him by breaking her vow of secrecy regarding his Targaryen heritage as she quickly shared this news to her lord husband Tyrion Lannister. And second, Tyrion stupidly told almost everyone he knew about this revelation, including the Dragon Queen herself. That had been the catalyst to the dragon’s wrath raining fire and blood over Kings Landing, burning thousands of people alive and almost stealing his little sister away from him for ever.

The shocking bloody sight of her in Kings Landing will never fail to grip his heart whenever he remembered it, just like the memory of the day in the godswood after she had assassinated the Night King. She was bloody then too, always caught in the midst of danger, death always at her door...

Jon’s hands closed into fists in frustration.

There were so many other possibilities to the outcome of that Southron war, so many _what ifs_ and _what could have beens_. He could have taken his birthright as the King of the Seven Kingdoms, as _Aegon Targaryen_. He would have been able to marry Arya Stark legally then, as they would be known as cousins and not siblings. It would have been a marriage of great political gain as the Northern and Southern Kingdoms would unite once more through them both, but it would have also been a marriage of true love. He could even have married Queen Arya as a Targaryen Lord and taken the Stark name if he wanted, so long as people knew that they could legally be together. They could have become the King and Queen of the North if that had happened.

Jon closed his eyes, sighing at his powerlessness. The politics below the Wall shouldn't be of concern to him anymore. The only thing that mattered was that Arya had come home to him and they were together once more. That was enough. When the time came when the Southern Kingdoms would want to steal her away from him, he would be ready to fight them for her. Like Rhaegar Targaryen fought a bloody war in Lyanna Stark's name, he too was prepared to do the same for Arya.

 _They took away everything else,_  he thought, firming his resolve as he pulled her naked form closer to his body, burying his fingers in her hair. _They will never take you away from me._

With that thought in mind, he felt himself dozing off as he closed his eyes and let the shared warmth and proximity to her wash him away into oblivion. And in his dreams, he remained with her, bonded to her even through their direwolves...

_He was running towards the mountains from the deepest North as the first light of day made the endless fields of deep snow sparkle. Beside him, Nymeria bounded forward swiftly, overtaking him with a powerful scent that made him mad for her: she was in heat. The smaller wolves had long abandoned them, running back to the safer forests of the mountains._

_Instinct made him bare his teeth and growl quietly as he leapt at Nymeria with his jaw locked around the back of her neck. Nymeria fought back, growling in warning as she shook herself with strength and tried to dislodge him. They tumbled forward, snow covering their fur. Once again, he leapt at her to bite her neck as she was trying to shake off all the snow. His jaw locked on tightly on her scruff as she tried to throw him off once more. But despite being an Alpha Queen, he was stronger. Soon she was whimpering as she let him mount her, their bodies locking as they mated together for the first time in their lives._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Sorry if the pace is too slow. I wanted to cover as much as I could and for them to resolve as much as possible before the plot goes South. And they want to have as much sex as possible, apparently.  
> (2) Also trying to cover things that I thought the show glazed over - like PTSD and the after-effects of war and trauma.  
> (3) Tried to do a semi-reverse - it's usually always the direwolves rutting first and driving Jon and Arya to do the same - but this time, Jon and Arya beat them to it!  
> (4) As always, comments are always very appreciated! I love talking to readers! And as you can see, comments can affect the plot! The burning dinner, Jon's anger at Tyrion, and other details.


	7. Of Distant Shores and Dreams

**Jon Snow**

The wolf dream was still fresh on his mind when he woke but it didn't bother him as much as he thought it should. How could he after everything he's done and faced in the past? It felt right that the last of the direwolves have mated to start their own brood. If he could have Arya, why couldn't Ghost have Nymeria?

He half-dozed in his feather bed as the sun outside climbed higher, its soft light filtering in through a gap between the curtains. He had been watching Arya with his eyes partly shut, pleased that her slumber was deep. She looked soft in sleep, young and without worry, as if she was untouched by life's cruelties. Her mouth was slightly parted, her lashes dark, dark like the long tangled hair that framed her face. Jon didn't want to wake her from what felt like a dream so he stayed with her, their warm bodies pressed closely together.

A pounding from the front door woke him fully, breaking the moment, and he frowned in annoyance. He hoped that it wasn't Tormund for although he considered the man a great friend, he wasn't quite ready to reveal Arya to prying eyes. Gently, he extracted himself from Arya's body, careful not to wake her. He rose, pulling on a clean tunic and a pair of woollen breeches. Running a hand through his unruly curls, he looked at Arya who was beginning to stir beneath the furs, blinking blearily as she turned her head to look for him.

"Good morrow, my little wolf," he said, smiling at her as he mussed her hair and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. "I'll be right back. We've got a visitor."

When she nodded sleepily, rubbing her eyes tiredly with the back of her hand, he headed out, shutting the door to the chambers behind him. Opening the front door revealed to him the familiar dark hair and eyes of his former steward, giving him relief. Satin bowed slightly before looking up at him with embarrassment. Jon wondered for a moment if it was obvious that he had partook in a passionate night with his sister-cousin. He looked down at himself, panicked, before a loud booming voice interrupted his thoughts.

"King Crow!" bellowed Tormund Giantsbane as he suddenly pushed Satin aside and sauntered inside his house to pull him into a crushing embrace. "The children of the village have been talking about you last night! And your lady guest too!"

Jon pulled away quickly from the older man, his nose wrinkling in distaste at the smell of the sour goat's milk that Tormund favoured. He wanted to glare at Satin for bringing Tormund here and the fact that Arya's presence was no longer a secret to the village, but he knew that it wasn't his former steward's fault. Instead, he scowled unhappily. Tormund was so loud that he was sure that Arya was now fully awake in his chambers on the other side of the door.

"Have you come here to gossip?" Jon said, gesturing to the table so that the man could sit. Tormund gave him a knowing smirk as he lowered himself on a chair, causing Jon to huff, an amused grin replacing his scowl. He could never stay angry at the older man for long. He was lucky to have Tormund as a friend - to Jon, the older man and his relatives had become like his own kin.

Satin had lowered his eyes as he went in as well, going immediately to work: lighting the fire, boiling water, and emptying the bathing tub with a bucket as he threw last night's bathwater outdoors. Jon had half a mind to tell him to stop because it wasn't his job any longer, but Tormund kept distracting him with rude gestures as the man continued talking.

"Did you steal her from another village? Have you a spearwife now too, Crow?" Tormund said, his smirk growing wider as laughter danced in his eyes. "The wee lads and lasses said that she looked mighty pretty! Where is she? I want to see your woman!"

His chamber doors opened, as if on cue, and Arya emerged. She was wearing his pale blue sleeping tunic, and on her, it looked too big and too loose. She looked dishelved with her tangled hair, and her stiff nipples peeked against the thin fabric of the tunic as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. Her exposed neck had little bite marks and her bare legs had finger-shaped bruises all over it. She looked breathtaking, making his heart pound as he stared at her, and underneath his breeches, he felt himself stir in desire. Jon both loved her and hated her in that moment.

"You're as loud as ever, Tormund Giantsbane." she said to the man sitting at the table, a small smile on her lips as she padded into the solar with her bare feet.

Satin flew from the room in haste, muttering something about tending to the garden outside. Tormund's mouth was agape as he blatantly gawked, his eyes comically wide as he ogled Arya up and down. He seemed to put two and two together as he kept glancing between him and Arya, paused with a frown, then shook his head in denial. Jon couldn't blame him for he knew that the free folk were people who judged harshly on bedding their own kin. He didn't care what Tormund thought though - it was his own fault for barging in like this.

"Arya Stark!" Tormund exclaimed, standing abruptly and knocking down the chair he was sitting in. He lumbered closer to her, towering above her with his tall bulk, almost looking like he wanted to go in for a friendly embrace. He chanced a look at Jon warily though and, seeing Jon's frown, he patted Arya's slim shoulder twice instead with a large hand, his touch forceful and boisterous but not untoward.

Arya looked amused at Tormund's antics but she nodded politely to him. "It's been awhile, Tormund. Have you been well?"

"Well enough," he said as he grinned, picked up his chair from the floor, then sat back down at the table, prompting her to sit as well from across him. He kept his demeanor polite but once in awhile, his eyes roamed over her body distractedly. "Do tell us about your adventures over the Western Seas, lass."

Jon gritted his teeth as he picked up his cloak from a hook next to the front door then went to her to drape it over her shoulders, making sure to cover the obvious outline of her unbound breasts. She looked up at him with a fond smile as he mussed her hair, causing him to smile back at her. As she and Tormund continued to converse, he turned away from them so as to look in the kitchen for something to break their fast, pulling out ingredients from the cupboard. He listened to them as he set a small pot of porridge over the fire, and took out some bowls and mugs.

"Har! An island of nothing but rabbits and sheep? Sounds like my kind of place!" Tormund guffawed.

Arya told them about so many islands that she and her crew encountered: islands that had nothing but old castle ruins that seemed to be haunted with evil spirits, islands with blood-thirsty barbaric cannibals who had chased them away, and uninhabited islands that were full of humid jungles, waterfalls, warm rain showers, sweet tropical fruits, and white sandy beaches that stretched far and wide.

"I'm surprised you didn't decide to stay there," Tormund said, beaming as he looked awed at hearing about the last island. "Sounds like a pretty place, as pretty as you."

Jon narrowed his eyes at the older man. But Tormund had already moved on to another topic, belly shaking with laughter. Sighing, Jon set a bowl of porridge topped with nuts, berries and honey in front of Arya, as well as a mug of hot apple cider. Courteously, he asked, "Have you broken your fast, Tormund?"

The older man gaped at him. "It's nearly mid-day, Crow! No porridge for me! Have you two been catching up on stories all night?"

Arya hid a small private grin as she raised a spoon to her lips. "All night."

"Aye," Tormund said, not noticing her double meaning. "And the travel must have exhausted you so much. Must've been a hard journey just riding up North, eh?"

"Very hard," she agreed, looking up at Jon from beneath her lashes, as she licked the honey from her lips. "I'm a good rider though."

Jon coughed as he sat down next to her with his own bowl and mug, trying not to get distracted by how her tunic rode up so carelessly up her bare thighs beneath the table.

"You feeling ill, Crow?"

Jon waved his hand distractedly as he started on his own meal. The two continued their conversation as he listened attentively, curious about Arya's maiden voyage across the sea.

Arya revealed that her ship had only encountered islands to the West and most were uninhabited. The voyage had been difficult at times but Arya was able to use her skinchanging abilities to her advantage. It was mostly birds that she warged into from her solar on her ship. With their eyes, she set about the direction of their journey. She had a brilliant old sea captain who had once served under Euron Greyjoy when the man had been seafaring in distant shores. She brought with her a talented cartographer too, and the young man had filled out and nearly completed the map of the entire world. They had ended up at the banks of Essos's eastern shores after nearly a year, hardly believing it, and after resting, they decided to turn back around and head back to Westeros, revisiting a select few islands that were on the way. The entire journey took less than two years, after nearly a year of preparation for the voyage.

"The world is round?" he asked in awe.

"Apparently so." she said with a nod.

"Thousands have journeyed before you and failed, girl, how the hell did you manage it?" asked Tormund, as he scratched his bearded chin thoughtfully.

Arya had a look of wonder on her face too. "We asked the same question ourselves. The journey was difficult. It would have taken only a few moons to reach Essos if the journey was kind. The seas were the roughest I've ever seen, and even the hardened Ironborn crew thought so too. And there were often storms and winds that caused sea waves that were taller than castles. It was my skinchanging that helped us predict how to avoid them, whenever I saw what lay ahead with the eyes of birds. Perhaps that was the only thing different with the voyage we had attempted. We had this slight advantage. It was a lot of ducking and cowering and running away from the storms truly. And that took a lot of our time."

"How about other people? Did you find others besides the cannibals who wanted to eat you?" asked Tormund.

"Most islands were empty but there were a few clustered together that had their own kingdoms. Their people were like the Free Folk where men and women were born to fight. Their leaders were like the Ironborn, tough and battle-worn, so they were wary at first for they've not met a lot of people from distant lands. It took a lot of council meetings and I struggled with all the High Valyrian courtesies I could muster. But as we offered only friendship and possibly future trade, we were able to gain alliances in the end."

Jon beamed at her, feeling proud. It seemed that she had been born to be a voyager, among other things. He wondered what the foreigners thought of her as they saw her emerging from her direwolf ship, a small but fierce warrior who was lethal but could also make friends out of anyone. Did they see her beauty? Did they learn about the iron underneath?

"I wish I had been there with you." he said, meaning it with all his heart. There was a dull ache in his chest as he imagined it, being with her on that ship all that time. They could have seen the world together side by side on a direwolf ship, surrounded by nothing but sea and stars. If only exile meant he could have left Westeros too, with her.

She turned her eyes to him and in its grey depths, he could see the same longing and regret, the same wish that plagued him. But she smiled for him, her warm gaze steady and true. "You were," she said solemnly, truthfully. "You were always with me."

They seemed to only see each other in that moment as they stared at each other's eyes, their breath caught because of the emotion that they felt. It took a lot of effort not to sweep her off her feet and hold her tightly in his arms, to kiss her like there was no tomorrow.

Tormund coughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head as he seemed to be fighting hard against an obvious fact about the two of them. "Well I suppose I should get going then," he said with a toothy grin. "My sons have come home from the hunt and they've brought back a giant boar! Tonight we feast so I expect to see you both there. Arya, you need to be introduced to everyone too. And here I thought that the Crow had found his spearwife!" He turned to Jon with a wicked smirk, and said to him in a conspiring tone, "Remember what I told you, lad, a long time ago? If a man does not use his member it grows smaller and smaller, until one day he wants to piss and cannot find it. You better find yourself a spearwife soon!"

They both stood as he stood, all of them laughing at his crude words. He sauntered to the door with a swagger then paused at the threshold, looking at them over his broad shoulder with fondness. "It was good to see you again, little lass. I hope you like the house. I helped your brother build it, you see. He was so particular about your chambers too, so many details. Said you'll need a home to go to after your journey. So happy to see you returned to him! He's missed you the most, I think."

Arya's whole face flushed, and she looked so happy at his words. "Thank you for being a good friend to Jon, Tormund. I will never forget it."

He nodded to them both before departing, the door closing behind him.

As soon as Tormund was gone, Arya stood and removed Jon's cloak from her shoulders and set it on the back of a chair. She turned to their bowls and mugs, picking them up. When she went to the kitchen to wash them at the stone basin, Jon went to her to hold her, his chest against her back as he wrapped his arms around her and covered her hands with his. Her slender body melted against his as he pressed his lips against the side of her neck.

"Would that I could hide you from the world for ever," he whispered to her in desire. He reached up and gently cupped the delicate curves of her breasts, kneading them lightly before twisting her nipples slowly over the fabric of the sleeping tunic. A low moan from her throat caused a jolt of arousal in him. He reached down under the tunic she wore and touched her between her thighs, his eyes widening in surprise as he realised that she hadn't been wearing smallclothes all this time, even while speaking to Tormund. He groaned, feeling hot at the thought. He ran a finger across her naked slit and wasn't surprised that she was already damp down there.

"Are you in heat, little wolf?" he teased her, biting lightly at her ear as he caressed her sensitive little nub with only the slightest of touches.

She gasped, shaking her head against his chest. "You're the one in a rut, big brother."

She was wanton as he pressed his clothed hardness against the curve of her rear, whining softly at the ministrations of his fingers, or lack thereof. Jon was determined to tease her slowly, with only light feathery caresses to her swollen nub.

"Do you need me, little sister?" he asked in a playful tone.

When she nodded, he held her chin and kissed her deeply, his tongue plundering her mouth hungrily. She tasted like honey and apples, and he couldn't get enough. Their tongues danced together wildly inside their mouths in a filthy kiss as he began thrusting his clothed hardness between the firm globes of her rear, his other hand still teasing her wet slit.

A sudden rapping at the door broke them apart, eyes wide. Jon groaned in frustration as he stepped away from her in regret, especially as she looked so needy for him with her pupils blown wide and her whole face flushed. He opened the front door only halfway, hiding the tent in his breeches. Outside, Satin's eyes were cast down as he spoke, as if he was afraid to see what was going on inside. Jon wondered if the other man already had an inkling of what he had done to his little sister. They would have to be more discrete in the future.

"Begging your pardon, milord, but I just wanted to let you know that I'm leaving for Castle Black on the morrow and not today. Tormund convinced me to stay for the feast tonight. If you had something for me to send to King Stark or Grand Maester Tarly, I will collect it in the morn."

"Thank you for letting me know, Satin. Please feel free to make use of your free time. I don't need anything else so I will see you tonight at the feast."

Satin bowed and departed quickly, and Jon felt relief at seeing his back. After he shut the door, he looked for Arya.

She was naked as her nameday, sitting on the table with her legs parted as she leaned back on her hands, and jutted her breasts out alluringly. With her dark eyes on his and a wicked smile on her lips, she reached down to part her folds, letting him see inside her pink slit.

 _Fuck_ , he thought, salivating at the sinful sight. He went to her slowly, drinking in her delicious body, her breasts, her curves, and her aroused little cunt. _You used to be so innocent._

That innocence had been stolen long ago. The way she moved, every moment when she was teasing him, was a seduction worthy of the infamous courtesans from across the Narrow Sea. This is what they had made of her. It angered him a lot, thinking of how young she had been when they had been _training_ her in the language of seduction, but it also made the fire in his blood burn even hotter than before, with the need to possess her.

"I need you, my king." she whispered darkly to him, urging him on with lust that burned brightly in her eyes.

His hands were shaking as he hurriedly unlaced his breeches, shoving it down his hips and freeing his strained arousal. Eager to touch her, he stepped forward between her thighs as quickly as he could, groping and fondling her everywhere as she lay on her back. In the daylight, he could see every inch of her much more clearly than last night. Her lithe body was very smooth, each slim curve beautiful. The scars she had all over her skin was like a mirror to his own, though it wasn't as numerous as his. It made him sad that she too had been hurt so badly but he knew that it had strengthened her as well. These tiny imperfections were a testament to all the adversity she had faced, the iron underneath her beauty.

 _Every hurt is a lesson and every lesson makes you better_ , she said to him once, when he had come upon her in the courtyard at Winterfell, training with Brienne. He'd been fearful that the lady knight from the island of Tarth could easily injure her, for the difference in height and size between them had been too great. It was only after the War for the Dawn that he had finally understood that she had become a hardened warrior, just like him.

Arya reached up to bury her fingers in his unruly locks, gently grasping at the roots as she pulled him down for a kiss. And as their lips met, Jon pushed his hips forward, the length of his cock sliding against her swollen clit and slippery slit but not going in just yet. Her whole body was thrumming, breath caught inside his mouth as she met his thrust with her own. Their bodies danced together at the table, so needy while giving and receiving pleasure from each other.

Soon enough, he couldn't hold back anymore. Pulling away from her lips, he looked her deeply in the eyes as he pressed his manhood inside her. She cried out in pleasure at the intrusion and, in turn, his eyes rolled back at how good it felt to have her. She was so hot and so tight around him, and so drenched too. Jon straightened himself up to look down at her properly, to commit this wicked memory to his mind. She was writhing on the table as he rocked his hips against hers, lost in her own pleasure. Putting her legs over his shoulders, he let go of himself, desperate to rut.

"Beautiful," he said to her, leaning down to suckle a nipple in his mouth and causing her to gasp brokenly. "My lovely girl."

"Jon," she cried out as he went to her other breast, biting the nipple lightly before suckling on it as well. "Make me yours."

He drew back and smiled down at her, touching her finally, fingers already skilled at knowing how she wanted to be stroked. He fondled her delicate folds, so tightly wrapped around his cock, and gathered the slickness around them. And then, as he continued to pound into her, he used his thumb and forefinger to rub her swollen little clit in time with his thrusts.

"Yes," she mumbled, her body trembling with pleasure as he continued. "Just like that, Jon."

"Look at you, little sister," he said, his voice half a moan as he struggled now to halt his impending release. "So needy on your brother's cock. Have you always wanted this?"

"Shut up!" she said, although she was laughing brokenly. "Maybe we should have done this before you left for the Wall. Not the second time, but the first."

It was such a filthy thing for her to say and he gaped down at her with a grin as he paused his movements, half-amused and half-horrified. "What would we have done then?"

"You would have taken me to the godswood and claimed me before the old gods," Arya said, smiling up at him earnestly as if she actually meant it. "Maybe then, you wouldn't have left. Or I wouldn't have left. Maybe we should have run away together, all the way to Essos where no one would know that I was your sister."

 _Maybe, maybe, maybe..._ he thought, with half a smile.

"This is good too," he said. "If in the end, we're together."

"Yes," she agreed, warm laughter in her eyes. "This is good too."

He paused for half a heartbeat longer before he started moving again, his thrusts becoming wilder as he stroked her sensitive nub. They rocked against each other for as long as they possibly could until she cried out his name in surrender, tightening around him, and he followed her not too long after, her name on his lips as well.

***

Jon heated up some water for them so that they could wash off all the sweat, juices and spend from their bodies. He held himself back this time as they wiped themselves down with warm soapy soft cloths, trying vainly to ignore the want in her stare as she watched him. How many times has he bedded her since last night? Three? Five? He had almost lost count. That didn't even include the amount of times he'd made her come. It was becoming a bit absurd, even if he enjoyed every second of it. With his past lovers, he had never been driven by something like madness, with a dark intent to possess and bite and mark. It had never been so intense as if his life depended direly on it, this need to keep claiming her after losing her for so long.

As they washed themselves, Jon was able to reflect on the events of the past day. It was still surreal that Arya was here in _their_ house. For the first time in a very long time, he felt whole, the missing piece of his heart slotting back into place. He was so very happy. But also, a part of him still felt guilt gnawing from the inside for he was a little alarmed at how they've hurtled into this sudden carnal relationship, even if it felt very right. He hadn't really asked what Arya thought about it - in fact, there was hardly any talking involved as they let their needy bodies do much of the communicating.

For the three years that he'd waited for her return, he had imagined it differently, idealised it as he wanted all things to fall into place. He planned to feed her a grand welcome supper, ply her with gifts, and spoil her rotten so as to make up for lost time, not just for the years after his exile but the ones after their first parting when they had been nothing more than children.

The truth was far messier and complicated as the intensity of their reunion was so great that sibling boundaries were blurred and their tentative cousin relationship wasn't even discussed. It was as if they clung too much to the bonds of their past sibling love that to let that go and erase it would feel like a betrayal. And yet, despite good intentions, they went straight from the innocent bond to the torrid affair they now had.

 _What would Father say? Nay, what would Uncle Ned say?_ he thought, his face burning in shame. _Not to mention Robb. Bran could already know everything that I've done to his sister._

When Arya had finished washing herself, she hung both her wrung-out washcloth and Jon's next to the hearth's fire. Jon ran his eyes down the slim shape of her back, from the long brown locks that fell from her head and settled at the middle of her slender back, her lovely tapered waist and shapely little arse, down to the delicate curve of her Achilles heels. The strong muscles of her legs were gorgeous - she had used them so skilfully in her graceful Braavosi dance, with Needle clasped tightly inside her fingers. He tore his eyes away from her as he tried to recall his honour.

Did he truly still have honour?

Running a hand through his beard as he felt uneasy, Jon admitted that with regards to Arya, there was nothing else that mattered, not even honour. He glanced her way again before swallowing thickly as she begun to dry herself with a towel. His awe at how lovely she looked now that she was a woman grown was daunting.

To distract himself, he started to dry himself as well, from the mop of dark curls on his head to the soles of his feet.

"I'll go and dress now," Arya said as she started to move towards her chambers. But then she looked back at him over her shoulder, grey eyes teasing. "Unless..."

"Do so quickly," Jon said, with a shake of his head. "Perhaps after the feast."

She looked a little disappointed at his lack of interest at the moment but she smiled at him nevertheless, nodding before she shut the door to her chambers.

Jon sighed deeply, wondering how to start the conversation about their relationship, or if they even had to talk about it. He was the older one though so he knew he should do the responsible thing and broach the subject at least. It would be good for them both in the long run.

***

When they were both dressed and were sitting down at the table for some nettle tea, bread and cheese, Jon noticed a few key details about her: Arya's clothes were still the same ones she wore from three years ago and they were now travel-worn and shabby, as threads were fraying and the leather was cracked and in need of oiling. She had braided her hair in the Northern style, more elaborate now than the practical tie that she wore when he first saw her yesterday, the style their father used to sport. The only cloak she seemed to own was the one that hung on the hook at the front of the house, an old threadbare thing that was unsuitable for the north of the Wall. Her boots too, which were next to his near the front door, were the same as the ones she had been wearing at the docks of Kings Landing, old and worn.

It made him realise that she hadn't been cared for suitably during her voyage. It made sense since there probably wasn't a lot of shops that sold clothing in the islands that she had found, and salt, harsh winds, and stormy weather probably aided to the quick wear and tear of her clothes. But it still made him melancholic and protective, feeling the strong urge to care for her now.

As they finished their light meal, Arya stood and made another tea for herself using a medicinal herb that Jon eyed suspiciously.

"What kind of tea is that?" he asked, curious and concerned.

She looked up at him in contemplation, nervous all of a sudden. "Moon Tea."

The answer shocked him, although he knew it shouldn't. They had both been indiscrete, as he had kept spilling his seed inside her again and again and she had not told him off. The implication was clear: they could have conceived a child during the past few hours and they both were not even aware of it - or at least, Jon wasn't until now.

 _A child_ , he thought with sudden wonder and longing. _A child with the Stark looks born from a love that is true. A child from the union between Arya and myself, a proof of our love._

And suddenly, it seemed as if his eyes were open for the first time. He imagined it: their home beyond the Wall filled with the laughter of children, the padding of little feet on the wooden floor, tiny cloaks of fur with leather boots that were even smaller, and nostalgic Northern songs and stories at night to get them to bed.

He craved it now with all his heart, craved to get Arya with child - craved these children he would create with the one true love of his life. Raindrops on bedroom windows, the wind howling at night, dew in the grass, mist covering the mountains, direwolves at their feet, fire in the hearths and in their hearts. A family that was his own making.

Once, long ago, he had vehemently disliked the idea of having a child because he had been raised believing himself a bastard. But he was no longer a bastard. Jon had a name, and it was _Aegon Targaryen_.

Even if they lived their whole lives in exile beyond the Wall, they could be a true family. They could raise their children with love, warmth, and safety.

"You don't want me to drink it?" Arya asked gently, breaking into his thoughts as her gaze softened at the look on his face.

"Have you ever wanted to have children?" Jon asked her, feeling timid all of a sudden as he remembered that for years, Arya had been a warrior, far from the expectations of society. Maybe she didn't even want to have children and Jon was being stupid with the new fantasies that suddenly filled his mind.

She abandoned the tea and went to him. She sat on his lap in a familiar way, warm and weighing so little, then pressed her head against his heart, her eyes cast down. "When I was a child, I knew that it would be my duty one day. During the war, I longed so much for our family. I didn't want to be alone for ever so I thought maybe one day, I could have my own children so that someone would love me."

"Would you like to have a child with me?" Jon whispered to her, holding her tight around the waist as he feared her answer. "We don't know if conception happened or not today but would you consider it?"

She looked up finally and in her grey eyes, he could see a guarded hope, as if what he offered was a double-edged sword that could hurt them both later on. "I would like that with all my heart, to have a child with you. You know that I will give you anything, Jon. Even if it was impossible, I would make it possible for you. But what will I be to you? To the world? What do you want me to be? Sister? Cousin? Lover?"

And there it was, the other part of this. It wasn't the question she asked him but he realised the implication. Not her implication but his own interpretation. He had been thinking of this hours ago.

What would happen if Arya fell pregnant in this village and there was no other possible father in sight, no one but Jon? The wildling villagers would curse her and the children they would have.

Down south, Jon was still a bastard in the eyes of Westeros and if they were to be together and had a family, their children could potentially be bastards as well, with no rights to lands or titles if they ever decided to go back down south beyond the melting Wall.

Lords and Ladies would see nothing but their bastard status, as if they were a stain against their presence, when in truth they were the progeny of an exiled Targaryen King and a Stark Princess of two Kingdoms. It was a horrible thought and Jon was loathe to ever let that happen. It would be a feat to resolve this but he knew that he will do all that he could if wanted to cling on to the dream of having a family with Arya someday.

"You'll be everything," Jon answered honestly to her question after being quiet with his thoughts for a moment. He rested his forehead against hers and stared into her eyes, their warm breaths mingling. "We'll have to find a way but our children will not live the life I've lived. They will be Starks, at the very least. We will be a trueborn family."

"Is that truly possible?" Arya asked, so softly that he could barely hear her.

Jon wasn't sure but he hoped terribly that they would find a way. He couldn't answer her now so instead, he just nodded with hope. Their children will have to wait as well.

But for now: "Take your moon tea," he said, drawing back and giving her a chaste kiss on each cheek. "This will be resolved one day. For now, we have a feast to attend."

She smiled at him and did as she was told, finishing to brew the tea and drinking it after.

Jon went to her room's wardrobe to fetch for her a few more of her gifts: soft, supple leather gloves and an elaborately woven pale blue cloak that was stitched with winter roses at its hem and running wolves at its trim. It had been made with expertise by a master craftsman from White Tree, lined at the collar and on the inside with the softest fur he had skinned himself from several snow foxes that the village had hunted in the past, one that was so white that it matched Ghost's own fur.

When he emerged from her chambers, he found Arya in the kitchen. She looked up from drying their plates with a clean towel as he went to her. Pulling her close to stand before him, he carefully wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and fastened a sturdy silver direwolf-shaped clasp at her throat.

Arya looked surprised but happy, eyes lighting up as he smoothed the cloak down her arms and back. She avidly studied all the fine details on it with her fingers, from the stitching of her cherished flowers and the tiny whimsical running wolves, to the silver direwolf emblem of her House at her neck.

"It's so pretty," she said, breathless and smiling as she shivered under his touch. "Jon, is this really for me?"

He smiled back at her, fondly kissing her forehead. "It is and you look lovely in it, my little wolf."

Beaming at him, she jumped up to embrace him tightly with her arms. He caught her around the middle and held her lovingly, both of them laughing as if they were children again. And just like when she was a little girl, Arya leaned down and rained kisses down his cheeks, her whole face flushed.

"I love you so much, Jon." she said, her eyes so full of love and devotion for him.

She who had survived three different wars and numerous battles, who had fought like a wolf to get back home to him, who had loved him from the moment she was born, and had loved him even from across distant shores both east and west of Westeros, who had helped him in defeating the darkness that threatened humanity by being his sword, who wanted to be with him always and would even bear his children when the time came...

She loved him. And he loved her.

Jon had a lump in his throat as he pulled her face down for a breathtaking kiss. "I love you too, Arya."

***

**Satin Flowers**

As he walked down from the mountain path that led to Jon Snow's cabin, Satin frowned to himself. He could hear the loud booming voice of Tormund Giantsbane ahead of him as the older man was singing a filthy tune at the top of his lungs, but it did not distract him from his thoughts.

Long before he lived in Castle Black, Satin had been born and raised in a brothel in Oldtown. He had been a catamite, knowing the familiar language of carnal relations from a young age.

That morning, upon seeing Arya emerging from Jon's room barely-clothed, dishelved, and with the unmistakable marks of a rough bedding, it was obvious what she and Jon had been doing last night. It was why he flew from the house in a rush, panicked at seeing something that was not meant for his eyes.

Satin had spent weeks on the road with Arya as they journeyed to this village from Castle Black and she definitely had none of those marks on her skin before she reunited with her brother.

It was an abomination - that an older brother would take his little sister to bed was something that the gods would never forgive, be they the Faith of the Seven or the Old Gods of the First Men. But it also didn't surprise Satin.

Serving as Jon's steward as long as he had, Satin had been a first-hand witness to the other man's broody silences and faraway looks, his thoughts always on a lost little sister that he longed for. The rare moments when he spoke about this cherished little sister of his, it had been with a heartfelt yearning, as if the loss of her had broken his heart.

When the pink letter from Ramsay Bolton arrived from Winterfell, claiming that the bastard-turned-lord was demanding his bride back, Satin had seen how Jon had been driven into madness. For this bride had been none other than Jon's favourite sister, Arya of House Stark.

He'd seen the man get murdered by their black brothers because of her. He'd seen him coming back to life for her. And he had seen him tearing the North apart as he rode to war for her, hundreds of men dying from his sword. Jon's devotion to his little sister was the kind that songs were made of.

And Arya - even as a girl who had barely left childhood, she had killed the god of death herself, the Night King who had haunted the lands north of the Wall for thousands of years.

Jon had been the watcher on the wall, the commander who had orchestrated the armies of the living against the armies of the dead, and in the war, he'd even burned the cold wights down below with the fire from a dragon that he rode in the sky.

On the ground, with her wolf army and then with just her little dagger, his little sister had been his sword in the darkness. It was almost like that prophecy from the red witch in a way because together they ended the Long Night and brought the dawn. What other gods would dare to come between them after the god of death himself had perished because of them both?

The Night's Watch's vows came to him now:

_I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men._

And yet, it remained that this was still an abomination in the eyes of men.

Truth be told, Satin had no real qualms about it - he had seen far worse things as a whore in both Oldtown and Mole's Town. Furthermore, both Jon and Arya had gone to hell and back to be together again, and if this was the only scrap of happiness they'll ever get to have, Satin had no right to judge them.

Not that they would care either way. However, there was still the world at large. How were they going to be accepted in this unforgiving place that was severely opposed to such a union? This place was not south of the Wall where even cousins were accepted if they were to marry. The free folk would never accept such a union between kin. Also, despite being highborn, the Starks were never like the Targaryen or even the Lannisters who everyone knew had incestuous relations with each other. How could their relationship survive for long?

Satin would never betray their trust, for his loyalty ran far too deeply. Jon had been kind to him in his darkest moments, and he admired Arya who, despite being so young, had gone through so much adversity and survived. They both reminded him of himself, and also more - they were people he could only aspire to be, what with the heavy burdens they've had to carry not just for themselves and their families but for the entire continent of Westeros. The world owed them both a great deal and hopefully, no one would ever come between them again.

With a sigh, Satin focused on the present again, the loud voice of Tormund echoing in the valley below the mountain as he sang about the games of silly little wolves. As they came closer to the village, he looked up at the sky and found that the sun from earlier in the morning had all but disappeared. Above, it looked grey and unforgiving, with tiny flecks of snow falling towards the frosty ground.

Distractedly, he patted the small leather satchel that lay against his hip, the one he always had with him whenever he travelled. Inside, there awaited letters for Jon and Arya, summons from far away. He wished he didn't have to give it to them when the time came. He wished he could leave them alone in their happiness together, far away from the cruel games of the Southron kingdoms.

Just as Satin had found his wildling lover here in the True North and had known the sweetness of true love, Jon and Arya deserved this as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Arya has gifts for Jon too, you'll see. :)  
> (2) What did you think of Tormund? Lol, he sure does love a good entrance. Can't stop laughing at him being tongue-tied at seeing Arya again though haha.  
> (3) Jon is craving his own pups. They would be so cute! Little ones who look like the both of them running around with their own direwolf pups.  
> (4) It feels almost like filler chapters north of the Wall, even to me, but I want Jon and Arya to be a united front before they even see the rest of Westeros. Also, when they're surrounded by nobility, wouldn't it be fun for them to have to hold back and be at their best behavior after being free to do what they want with other for so long? Haha, a different form of torture. I think I'll have the village feast next because there's another issue to resolve for them, then possibly an interlude to see what's going on in the south.  
> (5) Introducing a guest POV here since it makes the story richer.  
> (6) As always please let me know what you think. I really appreciate the comments and enjoy speaking with everyone.


	8. The Village Feast

**Arya Stark**

Arya felt peaceful as they walked together down the path from the cabin, a mix of light snow from the sky and tree flower petals falling all over them. Once in awhile, she glanced at Jon bashfully, watching the snow falling on his hair, on his nose, and on his dark eyelashes. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch his face, to remove the tiny specks that made him look so lovely. Even now, she didn't know how she had come to be so fortunate, how Jon still loved her after all these years.

A sudden gust of cold wind blew through the mountains from the sea as they traversed a part of the path close to the cliffs that overlooked the dark and choppy waters but it hardly had an effect on her today. Jon had given her a luxurious new cloak that was lined with the softest fur and she’d also been given matching fur-lined leather gloves that was supple as it was cosy. It had been years since she’s had new clothes and it made her feel warm despite the cold afternoon.

Jon was telling her about the village and its people, from the wise elders to the babes who were just a few moons old. He went into detail about their plans of doing more farming, fishing, and selling their goods to market towns. Progress was very quick. His face was animated, his eyes lively, and Arya was happy for him. He looked very different from before when he was usually broody or sullen. This place had healed him and it seemed as if Jon was able to build a true home here without her. It seemed as if he had been able to move on. She wondered if she will belong here too one day, if she will deserve to be by his side for true.

”Arya? Are you listening to me?”

Arya looked up in surprise, his words interrupting her thoughts.

He gave her a gentle smile. “You don’t talk much anymore. Here I am prattling along and you have yet to say a word. You used to babble on about everything before.”

She shrugged, crossing her arms protectively over her chest as she remembered another man who had asked a similar question. That man had died long ago, like so many others. “That was a long time ago.”

Worry clouded over Jon’s face and Arya immediately gave him a reassuring smile. “You worry too much, Jon."

His eyes softened as he leaned over to muss her hair, melting fallen snow into her scalp with the warmth from his gloved hand. "It is my job to worry, from the day I met you. The day when you came into this world, you were just a tiny squalling thing that made your lady mother curse unbecomingly."

She couldn't help but laugh for she had never heard her lady mother curse. "I suppose it must have been a sight. My lady mother must have been furious to have me for a daughter.”

As if he just realised that they were speaking about Lady Stark, he grimaced. From knowing him so well, it was obvious that he suddenly recalled painful memories about her lady mother. Catelyn Stark had never truly been kind to him, even when he was still a boy. It wasn't that she was cruel - it was just that Lady Stark never treated him like a son when she clearly adored the rest of her siblings. Even when she had been so little and could barely understand his melancholy, it broke Arya's heart whenever Jon was sad or lonely. She always tried her very best to make him laugh or smile after her lady mother had upset him.

Arya reached over and clasped their gloved hands together. He looked down at her with gratitude, his eyes soft as he squeezed her hand between his, and they spent the rest of the walk down the mountain path in companionable silence.

***

At the entrance of the village, Arya could see that the preparation for tonight's feast was well underway. From a distance, they all looked like Northerners, with dark hair and somber faces.

Young and old alike were busy running around and doing their part. Men were chopping wood and stoking the fire for the wild giant boar and chickens that would be roasted, women were chopping potatoes, carrots and onions on a long table, and children were setting up long benches around the fire. There was even a young man that reminded her of Hodor, but this one could talk and jape with all the little ones. They were all wild with laughter and song. The smell of baking bread wafted out from one of the huts, as well as the warm familiar scent of a broth boiling over a kitchen fire. The lively little village reminded her of Winterfell, in its own way. Her heart seemed to skip a beat at this realisation.

She could feel Jon standing very close to her, a blazing warmth to her right as he too looked on in nostalgia.

"How will you introduce me?" she asked, clearing the lump in her throat. "Sister or cousin?"

Jon squeezed her hand tightly with his own before giving her a curious look. "Cousin? Kin? But maybe... One day, maybe _my bride_."

She was shocked. Did she hear him correctly? Perhaps it was merely a jape. But Jon's long face looked serious and his eyes were full of fiery conviction, as if he meant what he said. There was an intensity to him that she hadn't truly seen before, not even when he had bedded her with all his strength. She had heard it whispered between the Northern men when she returned to Winterfell years ago, how after he rose from the dead, there was a darkness in him, an intense madness that was sometimes whispered with _her_ own name. Arya had never truly believed all the rumours.

When Arya saw Jon for the first time after he was coming back to Winterfell from his Southern journey, there had been dragons flying above and a Targaryen Queen beside him. Her beloved brother looked like a proper hero from the stories they used to love, when they had been children sitting at Old Nan's feet. He was _Aegon the Conqueror_ come again, beautiful and dangerous: a King who had a Queen as lovely as him by his side.

She held back the urge to run to him during that procession, tamping down her eager longing. When they finally met again at the godswood, it had been a balm to all the wounds inside her as he treated her like a long lost sibling, his arms so warm and familiar. Despite the lovely reunion though, she couldn't help but feel as if some of their closeness had diminished. He hadn't kissed her forehead like he used to when they were children and in turn, she used all of her will to hold back the urge to rain kisses down his face.

Arya was crushed but she had understood - they were no longer the same people that they used to be. Despite being concerned about her past, all he seemed to want to speak about that day was their affinity for their weapons, his Dragon Queen, and Sansa of all people.

She had, for many painful years, imagined their reunion to be different, with a lot more tears and kisses. She had hoped they would become physically close again after she had only known the cruel and violent touch of enemies and strangers, deprived of so much true kindness for so long. There had been many nights when she had wanted to crawl into his bed for comfort like she always did as a child but it had been occupied by another woman, a queen. She had craved to feel safe and secure again in his arms, so starved for any scrap of affection.

Instead, she felt foolish because despite acting like a proper brother to her, they had become strangers rather than the best friends that they used to be as children. It had broken her heart when, after that meeting, Jon had remained distant despite looking at her with what seemed like longing sometimes. Instead, Jon had made it clear to everyone that his heart was only with his Dragon Queen and there was no room for anyone else. That was all he seemed to tell anyone who listened, that the mother of dragons was his Queen.

Arya understood then that she was no longer important to him, even if she still loved him with all her heart, with a strength that had caused her to claw her way through an endless amount of despicable acts just to get back home to him.

In the days that followed leading up to the War for the Dawn and the Battle of Kings Landing, it had felt as if she was living in a blood-soaked haze as she threw everything she had in every battle that she could fight in, punishing her small body beyond its limits. She had been so reckless as she ran towards every danger and in the midst of feeling so lost, afraid, and unloved, she even discarded her maidenhead with a good friend of hers as if she did not expect to live long, not caring at all about the political ramifications of her actions. At that point, she had already accepted that if she was going to die, she was going to do so fighting until her very last breath. That was the only way that she could still be needed. That was the only way that she could still be of use to Jon.

To hear him calling her _his bride_ now was terrifying in a way that she had never been terrified before. Not because she was afraid of him but because he alone in all the world had the capacity of breaking her fragile heart, the very same heart that beat only for him and had never stopped loving him.

As if he could sense the tempest of emotions that swirled inside her, Jon pulled her away to a building close by, one that smelled like straw. She was grateful for the distraction. She bit her lower lip, trying to still her rapid pulse as they entered the stables.

Inside, she heard the sounds of the creatures that lived there. He led her along a long earthen hall flanked by the paddocks of horses until they reached the end. He turned to the last gate on the left and opened it, pulling her in. Inside was a white garron that was pale like the moon's colour compared to Jon's midnight black horse Shadow. This one was a mare, sleek, pretty and well-cared for.

"This one is Wayfarer," Jon said. He pulled an apple from beneath his cloak and pressed it to her hand. "This one is yours."

"Jon," she whispered. She stared up at his solemn grey eyes and felt choked up again, this time at his kindness. "Why?"

He reached for her hand and together, they gave the apple to the mare. The horse took it with its teeth, biting and chewing it eagerly. Arya stared at it, at its beautiful black eyes that stared back at her in innocence.

It made her recall King's Landing all of a sudden - the pale horse at the end, after she escaped the dragon’s firestorm. She had tried her best to survive the many leagues between the Red Keep and the outskirts of the city. She had tried to save people too - to fulfill a vow to forget revenge and instead help the innocent, a vow that was sealed with the impending death of a man she had a complicated history with.

In the end, she'd been worthless and had saved no one but herself. She had been helpless in the storm of fire and blood as buildings crumbled around her, just like the last time that she escaped King's Landing as a child of nine. She could still hear the blood-curdling screams of the dying, feel the throng of the crowd pushing her and nearly trampling her underfoot as she struggled to breathe through the dust and ashes. The overpowering smell of choking smoke and burnt flesh of the corpses clung to her hair and clothes, making her eyes water. She could still taste the blood, the sweat, and the tears.

She was suddenly surrounded by warmth and it terrified her, as if the flames were about to burn her, burn her like it did the people that she couldn't save. There were so many of them lined up on the rubble: thousands of men, women and children whose empty and burnt eye sockets were staring up at her from their charred lifeless faces. She fought it, struggled at its tight grasp around her body.

"Arya!"

Jon's voice woke her trance and her eyes widened as she realised where she was. She felt like such a stupid child at her reaction, her mind trapping her in a memory from long ago. Not all horses gave her a fright like this, but sometimes she couldn’t control her memories and wild reactions. It was so absurd and she felt so ashamed, especially since there was no way to prepare for or fight against the onslaught of this malady, this affliction.

Arya went to Jon and buried her face on his chest. She breathed in deeply, inhaling his warm masculine scent. The familiarity calmed her even though a part of her wanted to run away. She wished that Jon didn't have to see this humiliating part of her. She had thought that sailing away in a hurry years ago would have helped to escape this ugly thing - this weakness.

"Where did you go, little wolf?" Jon said, running his fingers gently through the loose strands at the back of her neck.

"Nowhere important," she said lightly, shrugging against his chest. His touch made her shiver, made her heart clench. It made her also hate herself, hate that she was such a broken thing, unable to control her own mind. Jon truly deserved better than her. "Sometimes, I just get lost in memories."

“That happens to me sometimes,” Jon admitted. He leaned down and kissed the scar upon her brow. “It will get better with time.”

Arya wanted to ask him so many questions, aching to learn about his own past and the darker part of him that she had only heard about. But tonight's village feast is not the proper time for these things. She held on to him for a few more heartbeats before pulling away. Trying to distract herself, she turned to the pale mare again. Underneath her fingertips, its rigid muscles were warm along its flank. The mare was a fine beauty, one that seemed like it had been bred for a Southron lord.

”It’s nice to meet you, Wayfarer,” she said as she ran her hand across its back and looked into its dark eyes. She glanced back at Jon with a grateful smile. “You’re spoiling me too much. This isn’t good for me, you know.”

Jon scoffed but he was smiling back at her. “Do you like her?”

”She’s perfect!” she said earnestly. Turning away from the horse, she went to him and stood on the tip of her toes, leaning up as she pulled him down for a searing kiss.

Jon did not hold back as he immediately took over, dominating the kiss as if he was a starving man. Their mouths clashed together. It felt so good when Jon pulled her closer against his warm solid body, his arms tight around her beneath her cloak.

To Arya, his lips felt better than a thousand beautiful sunsets on a calm sea. He made her feel as if she could live to be a hundred, with him next to her the whole time.

Jon pulled away suddenly and they both gasped, lips wet with spit.

Arya looked up at him gratefully, feeling hot from the kiss but also bashful as well. She had a few gifts for him too from her travels but she kept getting distracted - she vowed to herself to give these things to him on the morrow. “Thank you for Wayfarer, Jon. I’m afraid I haven’t gotten you much of anything in return.”

Jon shook his head as he cupped her face gently, the calloused pads of his thumbs caressing her cheeks. “You’re the gift, little wolf. I prayed for your return and the gods have answered me.”

Arya felt her chest clenching at his words, feeling dwarfed at the magnanimous weight of his affection. It was hard to resist the urge to weep so instead she embraced him again, burying her face into his chest and inhaling his comforting scent. She wished she could deserve his love - that all the sins from her past could simply disappear so she could just be happy. So instead she clung on to him, swallowing all the hurt she felt.

 _One day_ , she thought. _One day, maybe I’ll deserve you_.

***

She was introduced to nearly half the village as soon as they entered the square. She learned that there were about sixty three of them, all in all. There was the blind old couple who had somehow survived the war with the Others whilst hiding out in the crypts of Winterfell, the gruff and battle-worn brutes who preferred to grunt, the spearwives whose tongues were as wicked as their weapons, the maidens who had hearts in their eyes as they stared annoyingly at Jon, and the younger men who looked at her with interest, probably because she was new.

Jon's face looked wary at all their attention toward her. Everyone seemed to love to talk and had an endless amount of questions such as: where has she been this whole time? Were the rumours true that she and Jon were actually siblings? Was she actually a Princess? Did she really kill the Night King?

Arya supposed that she should have expected that she would already be known to them, because of the War for the Dawn. It was still difficult to answer their questions though. As they crowded around her in their curiosity, she felt tight-lipped and embarrassed at all the attention. Still, she answered as best as she could but said nothing to the more complicated questions.

They only stopped when Jon stepped in front of her, his face full of warning. Everyone immediately drew back, afraid. It was as if they saw him as some sort of god, perhaps because most of them knew that he had risen from the dead many years ago. They backed away, some smiling at her, some frowning, and some looking suspicious. She was reminded that this was a very tiny village that was probably full of superstition, perhaps not as open-minded as the many places she has been to, especially the very modern Free City of Braavos. Perhaps they even saw her as an evil omen because the Night King had touched her once. Perhaps they were even right...

A young girl of around five years old pulled her away from the crowd and for this, she was thankful. Arya found herself playing with the children a little further from the village square. She taught them games from her early childhood such as monsters-and-maidens, come-into-my-castle, and rats and cats. The children, who were the same ones she saw when she first arrived yesterday, were shrieking with laughter as she made the games as exciting as possible.

With the boys and girls who were closer to her age, she was challenged in stick fighting and she complied happily, eager to practice and spar.

It was astonishing to see that no one stopped the girls from weapon play. They were free and the elders even cheered them on. There were no rules that made them conform to become only one type of female. No one forced them to become a perfect lady with all the strict expectations that came with being one. Here, you were more respected as a woman if you could put up a fight. She would have fitted in had she grown up here. It was a lovely dream, to have grown up here with Jon where they would have been free to be themselves. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

As Arya sparred with them one by one, she grew warm enough to put her cloak down on a bench. Most of the fierce wildling youth were very strong but they also lacked technique. She easily dodged their strikes with a small smile on her lips as she felt herself dancing and spinning around in circles as Syrio once taught her.

Her competitors grew older and older until there was one that was a little older than her, a handsome young man with striking Northern looks who was always smiling. This one proved more of a challenge, his movements cleaner and concise, as if he was trained at a castle long ago, just like Jon.

Arya found herself breathing hard in exertion and smiling too at how good it felt to test her skills. During her voyage over the Sunset Sea, she had made sure to bring a dancing master of the highest caliber, one that was willing to set sail for adventure. She had trained with the Braavosi master day and night, whenever she had time. They used all the weapons that were on the ship, aside from her beloved Needle, her Valyrian steel dagger Cat’s Paw, and the custom-made dragonglass staff that Gendry had made for her during the war at Winterfell.

When she was finally able to find an opening, spinning around towards the man so as to suddenly twist his wrist with her staff and the crook of her elbow, his weapon toppled to the ground. A sudden cheer broke her concentration and she looked around to see that quite a few of the villagers had gathered around to watch her fight. They were clapping for her. The man who had fought her was watching her avidly too, and the look in his eyes hinted some sort of recognition.

"I've seen you fight," the man said, panting hard as he tried to catch his breath. "I was at Winterfell too when the Others came. I'm from Winter Town. I played with you once, when I was a child."

Arya was taken aback, peering at him closer and not recognising him at all. "I don't recall."

He shrugged nonchalantly, smiling at her. "You were still very small then. I'm a bastard too, like your brother. My mother served Ser Rodrick Cassel’s wife. I decided to join the Free Folk because out here, it doesn't matter what my parentage is. And - "

"Arya." Jon said, interrupting their conversation, his voice almost a growl.

When she looked for him amongst the crowd, she saw that he looked sullen, almost angry. His dark eyes seemed to burn intensely like dragon's fire, as if he wanted to rut her in front of everyone. It made her think of last night when he’d thrown her down on his featherbed, face down and arse up, before he fucked her with the wildness of a direwolf. Her hands shook as she held her staff, barely resisting the urge to call out his name as she felt her face burning and her slit clenching and moistening in desire. She cleared her throat, trying to control herself in front of the crowd.

"Do you want to spar as well?" she challenged him, raising a brow as she gave him a knowing smile.

It seemed that she affected him too for he turned away, his hands balling into fists at his sides. When he spoke, it sounded very controlled as he forced himself to look back at her with a small smile. “Perhaps when you’re not exhausted from playing with the children. We can spar, just you and I. For now, you need to meet the rest of Tormund’s family.”

The crowd dispersed and Jon went to her with her cloak. Her whole body still thrummed with want for him and the adrenaline from the sparring made it even greater. He wrapped the cloak around her and clasped it at her throat, fingers lightly caressing the sides of her neck. It felt good and she resisted the urge to close her eyes and surrender. Instead, she smiled at him, causing him to smile back at her.

Jon led her back to the main square where the bonfire was burning high, causing warmth to the crowd that had gathered around it. In the middle of the people was the village's chieftain. Tormund had already began the merriment, singing wildly with a horn of drink in his hand. His cheeks were ruddy, his belly shaking with song and laughter. Surrounding him were his children: young men and women who looked similar to him, with wild tresses kissed by fire.

They were familiar to Arya for they had fought in the War for the Dawn in Winterfell: Toregg the Tall who loomed over most men and had a loud booming voice, and his fair wife Karsi who he had met at The Gift and had kidnapped from her clan to become his spearwife. There was fierce Munda who fought as fiercely as the men and whose voice had been lovely as she and a few other spearwives had warmed the cold nights of the wildling camps with songs about Giants, the First Men, and the Children. Her husband Longspear Ryk was also there, short and with a homely face, and still friendly like before. Lastly, there was the young man who was Bran's age: Dryn who was Jon’s former page, a boy who used to be chunky with his short legs, thick arms and wide red face. He used to look like a miniature of his father Tormund but now he had grown taller and leaner, almost a man grown.

"Har!" Tormund cried out loudly, his words sung in a drunken song. His eyes seemed to twinkle as he grinned at their approach. "The Crow and the little She-Wolf have emerged from their hut!"

The kin around Tormund turned to the both of them with astonishment, and Arya nodded her head in acknowledgement, feeling happy to see them as well. Toregg the Tall bellowed a greeting, coming over to pat Jon's shoulder with force while the women, Munda and Karsi, studied Arya with interest, a cordial smile on their lips. Longspear Ryk was looking at them both with laughter in his eyes, reminiscent to how Theon Greyjoy used to look at everyone, as if everything amused him. And young Dryn had a genuine smile for Arya because in the past, he had interacted more closely with her than any of the other Free Folk since they were the closest in age and he was always close by as Jon's page.

They had sparred together a few times when they were both free from their duties, when Brienne of Tarth was too engaged in making plans for the army she commanded, when Gendry was too busy forging dragon glass weapons, when Bran was too preoccupied with his greenseering at the godswood, and obviously when Jon was unavailable, always at his Dragon Queen’s side. From Dryn, she learned more about the North beyond the Wall, the horrible Others, and the way that his older brothers had died: Dormund who was killed by one of Stannis's men and Torwynd who died from a chill, rose again as a wight, and had to be killed by their father Tormund in the end.

To him, she had almost blurted out that she had killed her own mother _Lady Stoneheart_ who had been like a wight when she was resurrected, a harsh and horrible woman who led The Brotherhood as they caused vengeful bloodshed across the Riverlands. But the words had been too difficult and she said nothing in the end.

“Should we call you Lady Stark?” Munda asked, sounding almost amused at her own words.

”Princess,” Jon immediately corrected her before Arya could say something. “Princess Arya of House Stark.”

”Just Arya is fine,” Arya said quickly, giving Jon a stern look and ignoring the smile he was giving her. She turned to Munda instead, seeing a little bit of her father Tormund in the way she grinned. She and the wildling woman had never been friends but she hoped that that could change. There hadn’t been a lot of time to build new friendships during the war. “How are you, Munda?”

Her face softened a little. “Ryk and I have a little son now. You were playing one of your Southron games with him and his friends earlier.”

Arya couldn’t help but grin, as she had been heartened to become quick friends with the little ones. “What was his name?”

”Ryk like his father.” she said. She had a broad smile on her homely face as she looked at her husband with love.

”And with a cock just as long!” Tormund bellowed drunkenly, causing the crowd around him to break out in laughter.

Arya couldn’t help but laugh as well, sharing a look of amusement with Jon. It was no wonder that he looked so much better now than he did three years ago. He may have been surrounded by people who were uncouth and rough around the edges but they were always full of laughter and song.

Toregg the Tall raised his mighty voice to quiet everyone down and the boisterous feast resumed. In the background, someone was singing a sweet song in the Old Tongue.

Jon and Arya sat close together on a bench near the fire as men and women began to roast the meat. The stronger men took care of turning the giant boar on a spit while the others took care of the chickens. Bowls of broth were placed on their hands as Munda and a few other women began to sing about their journey North of the Wall after the war. It was a song full of hopeful melody as it described the long march through the snow, as they all tried to find a new home.

Arya shivered as she listened and Jon pulled her closer to him, sharing his warmth. The song reminded her of her own long journey North with her longing for home, for Jon.

Tormund told them the tale of becoming a husband to bears as she sipped on her broth, making everyone jeer playfully at his seriousness as Arya almost choked at hearing the story. His movements were very animated as he described in detail how he had made a spearwife out of one of the beasts.

There were so many songs and stories and as the delicious smells of the cooking meat made her stomach growl, a flagon of mead replaced the empty bowl in her hands. It tasted strong but sweet on her tongue, warming her insides just like the broth did.

”Give us your own song!” Dryn said to her with a grin, after another tall tale from his father.

The others cheered her on as well, making her feel self-conscious. She hasn’t sang since she had been a Mermaid in Braavos and although they said her voice was good enough to charm a man, she felt almost shy to sing in front of all these people. Beside her, Jon was giving her an encouraging smile and for him, she swallowed her nervousness and gave them what they wanted.

Braavos had been full of song and this was one of the first she had heard and learned by heart: a gentle song about sailing on green waves under the giant legs of the great Titan’s statue, the merchants and their wares on their boats, the mysteries behind the mist, the mummer’s performances that drew out the crowds, duelling in the alleys using the Braavosi dance, often for the chance to declare who was the most beautiful courtesan in the world.

When she finished, Jon’s arm had tightened around her waist and they were all looking at her curiously, as if she grew a second head. She wondered if her voice was awful, and that the courtesans who had trained her had lied to her.

It was Munda who broke the silence with a friendly smile. “This place is Braavos? What a peculiar place!”

”Can you tell us more?” Dryn asked beside his sister, his face already becoming red from the mead.

Arya hesitated for only half a heartbeat before speaking to them about her life there: just the better parts, avoiding the stories about her time in the House of Black and White.

She told them about all the cats in the many winding labyrinth streets of that foggy city, which made a little girl giggle in her father’s lap. She then went into detail about all the establishments from the Sealord’s Palace to the brothels that she could identify with their scent alone from when she had been Blind Beth, although she said nothing about her temporary malady. Braavos had been a great city, so much more beautiful and forward-thinking than Kings Landing. She told them about the people: the sailors, merchants, brewers, cooks and whores - people of all kinds who had all helped raised her in their own little ways. She told them about the food: their love of spice and the abundance of seafood that had made the city wealthy.

Hearing this made the elders sit up in attention, and Arya pointed out to them that their own village had the advantage of being close to the sea, that ice and snow could preserve their bounty from the sea for longer if they wanted to sell them at market towns. Using sums to mark up the prices when the demand was high would give them more profit, just like it did when she had been little Cat who sold oysters and cockles along the canals of Braavos.

The chatter died down when supper was finally served, just as it had started getting dark. Wooden plates heaped high with food were passed on to every single member of the village. Everyone had a sizeable portion, the giant boar roasted to perfection, crispy on the outside and juicy on the inside. Roasted apples, carrots, potatoes and onions were served with freshly baked bread and everyone’s flagons were refilled with more mead.

Talk continued and when Jon gave them all updates on young Aemon Steelsong, the son of King-beyond-the-Wall Mance Rayder, Arya smiled fondly as she ate her food. She was so proud of how Jon, even until now, was still so dutiful, engaging in responsibilities that no longer belonged to him. He had always been smart and kind and it was good to see that everyone in this village acknowledged him with respect.

Arya let herself relax amongst his people, hoping that she will belong one day too. She let herself have her fill of food and drink, feeling warm despite the cold evening air especially with Jon pressed so close to her side. She had never gotten drunk before, never feeling safe enough to do so. But Jon was here to watch her back and perhaps she could try it just for tonight.

Tormund was telling another tall tale with slurred words but this was interrupted when his youngest son Dryn started singing a song about Arya’s wolf army back at Winterfell. It almost embarrassed her to hear it but the song was more about Nymeria, Ghost and the rest of the wolf pack, about their valour when they had tore through the wights with their savage teeth. Tormund tried interrupting with his tale about a Giant woman and how he had suckled her milk as a boy, his voice rising above the song, but Dryn sang louder, to the laughter and applause of the crowd. Soon, all of them seemed to join in, voices becoming one as they sang about the heroic direwolves of Winterfell.

Arya felt hot from the drink, the food, the song and the laughter that surrounded them. With a smile, her eyes met Jon’s. He looked happy and lovely as he leaned close to her to kiss her on the forehead. She felt herself blushing at the gentle touch of his lips on her skin.

”You two truly are very close!” a voice said, interrupting them. It was Longspear Ryk, the one with the laughing eyes and friendly smile. “You used to look at Ygritte that way.”

Beside her, Jon's whole body tensed, causing her to wonder if the woman mentioned was the same one that he had fallen in love with before, the fierce woman from the stories.

”Was that your lover?” she asked Jon, watching his face closely. Jon looked pained for a moment before he nodded slowly. A dagger seemed to twist itself into her gut, just as painful as when the Waif had done it to her when she had tried to escape the Faceless Men. She wondered why she cared about a woman long dead.

”Aye!” Tormund chimed in with a hearty laugh. “The Crow stole her and made her his spearwife! They fucked for days in a little cave!”

”Will you shut up?” Jon growled, fire in his eyes as he glared at Tormund. Around them, the laughter and chatter died down as they looked at him in surprise. Jon's jaw clenched, and he looked annoyed.

Arya turned away from him, feeling pained at the revelation. Jon has been married before? Why didn’t he tell her? She almost felt betrayed at hearing it even though she knew she had no right to feel this way. What was she compared to that woman? She was just his little sister. In these lands beyond the Wall, nothing could ever happen between her and Jon, not for true. Everything had to be a secret.

To break the tension, sweet Dryn sang another song, this time about the great love his father Tormund had for a tall and homely lady knight from the South who had charmed him enough that he would never forget about her and will always love her despite the thousands of leagues that separated them. Tormund sniffed, teary-eyed as he wrapped his arms tightly around his youngest son who was still in the middle of singing.

Arya stood up shakily on unsteady legs as the drink affected her balance. Her bladder was full so she made for the darkness, towards the outskirts of the wilderness beyond the huts of the village. She held on tightly to the pommel of Needle as she wobbled both ways, almost wanting to laugh for some reason. She had never been so drunk before and it felt good, despite the ache in her heart. She could almost forget all her troubles.

After she made her water unsteadily in the bushes, she noticed that Jon was waiting for her as she emerged from the darkness. He was lacing his breeches after pissing as well. She almost rolled her eyes in amusement at his worry for her as they walked back together towards the center of the square. Did he not know she could kill so easily now? They had fashioned her to be a bravo blade: small, swift, and deadly.

 _Polliver, Raff the Sweetling, Meryn Trant..._  She had crossed all of these dangerous men off her list.

Arya found a bottle of ale as they were getting closer to the square, kicking at it with a frown when she saw that it was empty. She found herself stopping and staring at the bottle, craving even more alcohol to drown her sorrows.

”You are quite drunk already, little sister.” Jon said as he stood next to her, watching her with concern.

Arya laughed without meaning to, confusing herself at her lack of control. This had been one of the many lessons she’d learned from the Kindly Man. Too much drink would make her ineffective against her enemies. She just didn’t care about it right now.

”You were married before?” she asked, her eyes widening in shock as soon as she said it. She felt dizzy all of a sudden and she gritted her teeth in anger at herself.

”No!” he said vehemently, with a frown. “I didn’t even know she was a woman when I captured her as a member of the Night’s Watch. They have odd customs here. If a man tries and succeeds to steal a woman from a different village, they become a spearwife to the man. So no man should ever try to steal you.”

”Like you stole her?”

”I told you,” he said with a frustrated sigh. “I’m of the South. North, I mean North. I’m a Northerner like you. I don’t practice their local customs here.”

”But you fucked for days in that cave?” she said, her words slurring as she wanted to kick herself at her lack of control. She never would have said anything if she wasn’t this drunk.

Jon was looking at her closely, studying her. She almost felt ashamed. Jon wasn’t her first lover too but she couldn’t help it, this ugly thing that she felt.

”Are you jealous?” he asked softly, cocking his head to the side in curiosity.

She pushed lightly against his chest, rolling her eyes. “Don’t be absurd!”

An amused smile graced his lips as he reached over to muss her hair. She stepped away from him gracelessly, wobbling as she avoided his hand.

”You are adorable when you’re jealous.” Jon said, face flushed as he grinned stupidly at her.

”I am not jealous!” Arya said hotly. She walked away from him angrily to head back to the crowd gathered around the fire, stumbling drunkenly along the way.

Jon chuckled behind her as they made their way back to their seats from earlier.

Everyone was now eating the roast chickens with some gravy and boiled potatoes. The children had begun to roast chestnuts over hot coals, the night air smelling sweet and glorious.

All eyes were now on Munda, the villagers quiet and in awe as she sang the popular Southron song _Jenny of Oldstones_.

Arya had first heard it sung by Tom of Sevenstreams, when the Brotherhood without Banners had taken her to High Heart many years ago when she was a child. Munda had learned it at Winterfell from Podrick Payne, who had the loveliest voice she had ever heard in a man. He sounded even sweeter than Tom, perhaps a better bard than a swordsman. It had always been a beautiful song: about a poor woman who had fallen in love with a Targaryen Prince. Whenever Podrick had sang it in the courtyard when they sat together to rest after sparring together under Brienne's watchful eye, Arya had been reminded of Jon. She saw herself as Jenny, a _no one_ who had fallen in love with her King brother, who she would later find out was descended from House Targaryen.

On her ship, years later, on dark lonely nights when the crew tried to cheer each other up with songs and stories from their homeland, this song gripped her heart painfully as it spoke so dearly to her. Everywhere she turned, awake or abed, at land or sea, ghosts haunted her in her mind, from her butchered family, lost and murdered friends, and even the horrible enemies she had slain herself. But none haunted her more than when she believed that Jon had stopped loving her for true, as she had been replaced in his heart by a Dragon Queen. And today, even the ghost of his first lover haunted her, mocking her from the grave.

Her eyes stung. She longed for Jon so much that it wounded her so deeply, knowing that she had never even wanted to leave him in the first place, not as a child as she was forced to move to Kings Landing, and not as a young maiden who impulsively set off as a voyager across the Sunset Sea...

Soon she got distracted from her thoughts as the song around them changed. The dancing began after someone brought out their strings and another, their drums. The song was now in the Old Tongue but it was lively as the strings were strummed in a melodious twang and the drums were pounded loudly to the beat of its notes. They pulled her up from her seat and even got Jon to join in as the entire village seemed to all dance as one around the great fire, arms around each other as they drunkenly and joyously swayed together left and right, without grace but full of passion. Arya laughed a little, distracted from her thoughts from earlier. Beside her, Jon was laughing wildly, as if he too was deep in his cups. It felt good to lose herself in the movement of the crowd as they all swayed together around the great fire and a part of her wanted to keep dancing into the morrow.

When the song ended, they headed back to the benches for more food and drink. One of the elders stopped Jon for a chat and Arya found herself sitting on her lonesome for the first time, breathing shallowly because she was tired from the dance. She felt warm, her face feeling hot. She reached for another tankard of mead, not intending to stop. She listened closely to the crowd around her as she studied everyone around her in curiosity, attentive despite the drink that was muddling her senses.

Next to the fire, the children were smiling sweetly as they gingerly tried to peel off the freshly roasted chestnuts with their bare hands. While the grizzled warriors were roaring in laughter as they recounted long-ago battles, the spearwives gossiped fiercely about news from rival clans. The oldest members of the village were playing a game of dice with a loud and friendly banter, betting on their chickens. A distance away, Tormund and his son Toregg the Tall were teasing Jon as they joined in on the conversation he was having with the old man, causing another round of laughter. And she even saw Satin at the edge of the crowd, standing close to a tall and handsome man with long braided black hair, a broad smile on his face as they talked together privately.

Quickly, she learned about the vital information that she had been most curious about: that Longspear Ryk was kin to the woman called Ygritte, and that most of the other villagers were also the family and allies to that wildling woman.

Arya stared around her, almost a woman grown but suddenly feeling a little like a mouse of Harrenhal again as she realised that she was surrounded by the kin and allies of Jon's first lover. People always said that a man _never_ forgets his first love. This was where he had chosen to be in all the world after he had been sent to the Wall, his special place with all her people. The woman must have been so special to Jon. And mayhaps, in some way, Arya was the intruder here.

 _Seven hells!_ she thought passionately as the drink made her stomach churn, making her feel like a fool. She wondered if Jon was just being kind to her all this time. She wondered if she didn't deserve to be here by his side. She knew in the back of her mind that she was being preposterous but she couldn't help what she felt. Furious, she rubbed at the wet ache in her eyes, cursing at the smoke from the fire. After downing the rest of her mead, she stood and walked away from the crowd as discretely as possible in her drunken state. She hoped that no one would notice her as she made her way to the stables in haste, needing a break from the noise and the activity of the villagers.

Arya made her way to the stables with no incident, relieved that her skills as a stealthy assassin was helping her now. The rush of cool air away from the stifling heat of the bonfire and the crowd helped to clear her mind a little. She vowed that she would never drink to this level of inebriation again.

Inside, the wooden interior was lit by the glow of the moon. At the very back, she found _Wayfarer_ , the pale mare that Jon had gifted her that afternoon. Arya reached out to let the animal sniff the supple leather of her gloved hand and then, as the horse recognised her good intentions, gently petted the warm space above its muzzle. Its dark eyes grounded her as they stared at each other. It made her focus despite the nausea in the pit of her stomach and the dizziness that made her unsteady.

The sound of footsteps behind her didn't surprise her and she knew immediately that it was Jon before he spoke.

"There you are," he said with his deep gentle voice, coming to stand right behind her. "Are you tired now? Do you want to go home?"

She couldn't help but smile a little at hearing him say it: _home_. She had never had a true home since she was nine years old, relying only on herself and the rare kindness of strangers as she grew up in distant lands. Even after coming back to Winterfell years ago, she had felt as if she didn't belong. Did she truly belong here now?

He stepped closer to her, pressing his warm front to her back and kissing the top of her head.

She turned around swiftly, the drink in her veins making her almost stumble gracelessly. He caught her with his steady arms, and on his face was a lovely smile. It was darker here in the deeper part of the stables and she could barely see all the details of his face. But she felt him, strong and warm as he wrapped his arms around her.

Her body shook as she felt overcome with emotion. She felt angry at how kind he was to her, and how broken she was that she sometimes didn't know how to react to him. She felt dwarfed at his presence, knowing that she had never been his first choice and that he had to suffer settling for her in the end. She will never compare to his first love whose kin he still lived with to this day or the beautiful Queen who used to stand beside him when he was a King, during days when he had forgotten about her.

"Are you upset? Arya..." Jon said. He gave her a careful, measuring look. His words were too gentle, as if he was patronising her, as if she was still a child for him to coddle. She hated it.

She wanted to push him away with her hands, to use all her force against his chest. But she did nothing, said nothing.

"Tell me," Jon said, putting his hands on her shoulders, a heavy weight as he drew back to peer even closer to her face. His eyes burned with care and concern and it triggered something vile inside her for she knew that she did not deserve his kindness. "What's troubling you?"

Arya took a deep breath, trying to still herself against the tempest inside her mind.

 _Quiet as a shadow._ she thought, trying to remember Syrio Forel's words to her a lifetime ago. _Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords._

And just like that, she slipped on the mask of _No One_ , all emotions disappearing on her face "I'm sorry," she said, with a careless shrug. "I'm just tired. Can we go home?"

Jon was frowning but with a weary sigh, he nodded his head. It looked obvious that he was not satisfied with what she said but he was not going to push the issue. Instead, he went to put reins on Wayfarer, pulling the mare out from its paddock with soothing words. Arya followed him quietly from behind as they walked out of the stables together, feeling upset at herself as she wished she was more like a normal person. She wished she wouldn't break at the thought that Jon had other women in his life besides her, even if they were in the past. Jealousy was an ugly thing but she couldn't help how she felt.

As they reached the edge of the village, Jon mounted Wayfarer in one easy move then leaned down to give her a hand. Effortlessly, he pulled her up to sit in front of him. The horse had no saddle to secure them in place so they were careful and held on tightly, their legs pressed closely together as they gripped on to the garron's flank. Jon wrapped an arm around her waist as his other hand gripped the reins. Slowly they made their way up the long and dark mountain path that led back to their cabin, the loud music and laughter from the village feast fading in the background. When they emerged from the dark foliage of trees and started to ascend the mountain cliffs, a pretty sight greeted them in the form of a pale full moon that reflected brightly on the choppy black waters of the endless sea. The pure midnight velvet of the night sky stretched out far and wide as stars bloomed brightly in infinite patterns.

"I think I owe you a conversation," Jon said, his voice hot against the shell of her ear. His breath smelled like alcohol, just like hers. "When we aren't drunk, we should talk. We went about this quickly but there are things we should have talked about long before we..." His voice trailed off, as if he was hesitant to classify what had become of their relationship.

Arya smiled bitterly. "Before we fucked?"

Jon seemed to shudder behind her and she wondered if he regretted all of it now. She feared that he did.

"Before I claimed you and made you mine," he said instead, sounding serious. She felt his warm breath on her nape as he sighed. "Tomorrow, I promise we will talk."

Arya said nothing else, letting the alcohol in her veins consume her as she longed to surrender to it. Despite the tumultuous thoughts that still wanted to rage like a rain of fire in her mind, the feeling of being surrounded by Jon and his familiar scent and warmth comforted her enough to close her eyes. The steady rocking of the horse underneath her legs as it clambered up the mountain lulled her into dozing off and only when Jon reached up to pull her into his arms in the small stables next to the cabin did she open her eyes, feeling dazed.

Jon held her like a babe, arms under her shoulders and the backs of her knees as he brought her over the threshold of their home. He lay her down on the featherbed in his chambers then unfurled her Northern braid, letting her hair loose as she lay on her pillow. He pulled off her boots, cloak, and the rest of her clothes until she was naked beneath his dark eyes.

Arya watched him studying every inch of her body under the light of the moon from the window, making her shiver with want for him. But he only pressed a soft kiss upon her lips as he draped his still clothed form over her body. He drew away far too soon, the kiss like a ghost, haunting her. Quickly, he covered her nudity with furs before moving away so as to light some candles, close the shutters and drapes, and start a fire in the hearth.

Arya felt herself growing warm with need as she watched him patter around the room. It made her wonder what it would feel like to be married to him, living together for all their lives as they belonged only to each other. She wanted to reach out for him as her eyes grew blurry, blinking slowly in exhaustion. She almost didn't feel it when Jon slipped in bed next to her and pressed his naked form against hers. She longed for his touch, wanted to claim him just as much as he had claimed her yesterday night, but everything felt heavy and she could barely move in her drunken state. So she settled for pressing close to him, arms tight around his head as he settled between her breasts, his warm breath so close to her heart.

 _Tomorrow,_ she vowed as she closed her eyes, surrounded by him. _Tomorrow, I'll try even harder to deserve you, to show you that I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) An introduction to the villagers - most of them are from ASOIAF. Sorry, this is more of a world-building chapter but it also touches on some issues that needs to be addressed.  
> (2) I wanted to touch on Arya's reaction at the fact that Jon is living with Ygritte's people. I think a lot of people forgot about this fact. She needs to get over these things, just as how Jon will have to get over Gendry too. She is not as self-assured as her show counterpart because in the books, she is actually more three-dimensional, with fears and low self-esteem despite all her bravery.  
> (3) Next update will be possibly Monday next week. I'm planning just two more chapters North of the Wall after this one. Then we will start moving South, I swear!  
> (4) Did anyone notice the parallel in Arya getting drunk to Jon getting drunk during the feast at Winterfell when King Robert visited with the Lannisters?  
> (5) I included Lady Stoneheart because Arya will more than likely give her the gift of mercy, as per hints in the ASOIAF series.  
> (6) As always, let me know what you think. Loving all the support and comments! I've been busy writing as much as I could! But all your ideas have helped me out! Thank you so much!


	9. Heart to Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit warning because a girl is thirsty.

**Jon Snow**

When Jon woke up naked and alone in his featherbed, he could almost hear alarm bells ringing as he felt panic. He sat up, eyes wide as he looked for her. Her scent lingered in his chambers but he could hear nothing but silence in the house. There was an unsettling stillness as he rubbed sleep from his eyes, peering around at the blue-gray colours of dawn. _Where was Arya?_

He stood quickly and dressed himself in fresh clothes as he recalled that Arya had been upset at the end of the night. He hoped that she hadn't changed her mind about living here and had left him during the darkness. A number of other possibilities also ran through his mind. Dread settled in the pit of his stomach as he feared that she could have easily been stolen in the night to become a violent wildling’s spearwife. This enraged him so much that he was ready to spill blood to take her back. Jon’s heart was pounding hard as he fastened the belt strapped with Longclaw around his waist.

When he emerged from his chambers, he looked around, noting that everything looked clean and orderly, with freshly-washed clothes hung next to the lit fire in the hearth of the kitchen. The table in the solar looked shiny for once, as if it had been polished with oil that smelled like sweet flowers. And on it was the red vase from Arya's room, full of blooming winter roses. Jon went to the garderobe and knocked and when he heard no response, he pushed the door open. Inside, it had been cleaned and smelled quite fresh as if Arya had spent all her time cleaning before dawn even broke.

Jon frowned as he pulled his cloak around his shoulders, and pushed his sock-covered feet inside his boots, hurriedly tying the laces.

When he opened the door however, he found her immediately:

Arya was in front of the house in just her breeches and tunic, moving her slim body in the Braavosi dancing style, her left hand locked around her Needle's hilt. With graceful steps, she moved with concentration, following a pattern. Her beautiful body spun around and she even did flips, her form so light and nimble. She looked lovely and lethal in the cool colours of early morn, her face serene even as she took her training seriously. Jon felt immense relief and fierce longing as he watched her closely from the doorway, entranced at the way her curves moved so sensually, as if her dance was sinful even in its beauty.

When she finished her training, Arya looked up at him with a curious expression on her face as she noticed that he was dressed as if he was ready for travel. "Are you going somewhere?"

He smiled at her from the doorway, amused despite the alarm she unknowingly made him feel when he woke up without her by his side. "Come here," he said, sitting down at the raised step of the doorway as he gestured at his lap. "I was wondering where you were."

Arya smiled back and went to him, putting Needle down at their feet as she sat on his thighs, pressing the side of her body against his front and leaning up to press a sweet kiss on his cheek. Her breath smelled like fresh mint and she looked so put together, recovered from being drunk last night. She had brushed her hair but her training had rumpled it as it hung loosely down her shoulders until the middle of her back. She smelled like fresh spring, as if she had washed herself with a fragrant soap after cleaning the cabin. Her voice was teasing. "Did you miss me already?"

Jon pulled his cloak so that it wrapped around them both. He pulled her closer and kissed her forehead, savouring her sweet scent. "You were so quiet that I didn't even know you had cleaned the entire house from top to bottom. You didn't have to do that."

She laughed lightly before leaning in to rest her head against his shoulder. She looked so sweet that his heart melted. "I have to do my part if I'm to live with you. I'm cooking our meal this morning too. Eggs the Bravoosi way, do you want to try that?"

Jon looked at her with fondness. "If you insist, I wouldn't be opposed. I suppose you have a lot of experience with all kinds of dishes from around the world now. I'm keen to try all of it."

"Even the spicy ones?"

"Yes, even those," he said before frowning as a thought occurred to him. "By the way, did you have to clean and work a lot when you were away from Winterfell?"

She drew back and looked up at his eyes curiously. She shrugged carelessly but she answered him truthfully. "I had many faces when I hid myself during the War of the Five Kings and even in Braavos when I went to live there. It was easier to survive as a smallfolk child than for people to know my true identity. So yes, I did my part as a servant, working just like the rest of the commoners: at the Riverlands, at Braavos, all over the place. I washed clothes in rivers, served lords their meals, swept floors, and learned to cook food from many different kitchens. Hot Pie will always be better than me in cooking though."

Jon ignored the rush of agony he felt at hearing how she had to resort to casting aside her nobility, living for years as if she was unimportant. He hoped that lords had not been cruel to her or had taken advantage of her. These hardships had probably caused her to become unlike other people of noble blood, as she had forgotten how important she truly was. Instead, he focused on a name she uttered that made him curious, his eyes narrowing. "Who is Hot Pie?"

She grinned at the look he had on his face. "Don't be jealous. You'll be laughing at yourself if you ever met him. He makes excellent meat pies and he's perfected making Direwolf bread for me. He only makes it for me."

He frowned, uneasy that a man would make special types of food just for her. He wondered if this Hot Pie was just like Gendry, if he had also looked at Arya with other intentions.

"I can't believe you're jealous of Hot Pie." Arya said, laughing at him. The sound of her laughter warmed him and Jon smiled at her despite himself.

Looking almost bashful, she closed her eyes and leaned up to press her lips against his. He shut his eyes too as he pulled her closer. Her lips were dry so he licked against it, getting it wet. She opened her lips against his and the kiss became playful as their tongues clashed wetly against each other. Inside, the flavour of mint was strong and clean. It was over far too quickly though as she soon pulled away. Jon sighed in desire, feeling himself stir beneath his breeches as he looked down at the affection in her eyes.

Jon leaned down again and captured her lips, more passionately this time as he wanted to let her feel the depth of his passion. Beneath him, she melted against his body, eagerly kissing back.

For a long time, they stayed at the steps outside the cabin, kissing and smiling and laughing outside the door, surrounded by the blooming pale blue winter roses that draped the wall, its scent as sweet as how they felt for one another. Sunrise was slowly peeking behind the snow-capped Eastern mountains when they finally drew away from each other with a soft sigh, their faces flushed as they stared at each other with wonder.

Looking at her, Jon was eager to make love to her in a hurry but Arya seemed to have other plans. She stood suddenly, picked up Needle, and pulled him inside. After quickly removing her boots, she went straight to the kitchen to pull out a pan from the cupboard.

Jon resisted the urge to groan at her decision to ignore him even though she must have felt his hardness poking at her rear when she was sitting on his lap. He pressed the heel of his hand against his stiff cock that now tented his breeches, trying to control his urges as he watched her pattering about, cracking the shell of several eggs in a bowl and whisking it after.

"I'll feed you later," Arya called out from the kitchen, a teasing grin on her lips. "You have to be patient, Jon."

He sighed, defeated. Grumbling, he rubbed his face distractedly before deciding to go outside to piss so he didn't get the garderobe dirty so soon after she had just cleaned it. He checked on the horses and the crops, making sure they were all still alive. He also did a perimeter check, making sure there were no strangers lurking about. Curiously, he tried to listen for the howl of wolves, wondering where Ghost and Nymeria went, but heard nothing. He wasn't really concerned though - he was sure that the direwolves were making good use of their time together too. They were a pack and this was where they belonged, just like Jon and Arya.

When he went back inside the cabin, the smell of tomatoes, sausage and eggs greeted him and his stomach growled. Arya had set the table, with plates of food for them both. Jon went to sit with her after removing his boots and cloak, putting Longclaw aside, then washing his hands at the basin with the fresh water. The meal looked good, the sausage and tomatoes fried together in the omelette as a tomato sauce was poured on top, chopped herbs sprinkled over everything.

"Thank you for the food," he said, digging in eagerly. It tasted mildly spicy, salted perfectly. The elk sausage and tomatoes were a good contrast to one other, the spicy sauce over the eggs tying everything together nicely. He wondered if she used one of the spices she had brought back from her travels. The heat from it warmed him deeply inside his body.

"Do you like it?" she asked beside him, eating more slowly as she watched him curiously, as if she was afraid of his answer.

"It's good," he said, smiling at her in assurance. "You should be in charge of the kitchen from now on."

She laughed, shaking her head. "The woman doesn't have to always be in the kitchen!"

He laughed too. "I was just teasing you. You should know that I have always valued you, that you are equal to me. You will never be forced to do something you don't want to."

Her gaze softened and she turned away from him, her face flushed at hearing his words. "I don't want to speak about these things before we finish breaking our fast, Jon." she teased, although she was hiding a smile from him. She stood and poured coffee for them, bringing their full mugs to the table.

The hot coffee was unlike the ones he's had before, strong but smooth, with a sweet fragrance. It was yet another thing she had brought with her from far away, and the thought of her traveling so far to bring back these things to feed him now made his heart swell. He wondered if she thought of him as she was trading in markets beyond the sea, if she had planned to one day share these parts of her travels with him.

They ate the rest of their food with japes and teasing once in awhile, Jon asking for a second plate because he had easily fallen in love with the dish that had warmed him deeply with its spice. And he drank a second cup of coffee too, comforted at its warm bold flavour.

***

After breakfast, Jon insisted on doing the dishes. Arya had given him an amused look before going to her chambers and closing the door. As he stood in the kitchen, cleaning quietly, he wondered what she was up to. Perhaps she went to her room to get ready for him to bed her. The thought sent a thrilling excitement to his groin, and he hurried along, eager for her touch and kisses.

When Jon entered her room however, Arya was unfortunately still clothed. Jon tried not to be disappointed at not finding her naked and waiting for him on her featherbed. It was such a silly madness for him to even think it but their years apart had awakened in him an unbearable hunger for her, and he knew that she felt the same way. Instead, Arya was standing next to her table, with three items that were tightly wrapped in crimson silk lying atop its surface.

"What do you have there?" Jon asked, eyeing the shapes curiously. One was quite tiny and shaped like a circle, wrapped tightly. The next one was square in shape, as if there was a very small box beneath the silk. And the last one was as long as her forearm, the details of whatever lay beneath jutting out against the silk.

Arya cleared her throat nervously before shrugging a shoulder, her eyes cast down. "I brought you gifts as well. I keep meaning to give them to you. But here they are. They're yours."

Jon's whole heart swelled as he swiftly closed the distance between them to kiss her cheeks. He was grinning from ear to ear like an idiot. "You didn't have to."

She looked up hesitantly and seeing his idiotic grin, she laughed at his reaction. "Obviously I had to. To see you so happy was worth it. It's really not as great as what you've given me though. I wasn't able to build a home to share with you, or get you a horse of fine breeding, or even get you new clothes to keep you warm," she said before looking down again, swallowing as she looked visibly tense. "I'm not good at these things."

"Coming home was enough," Jon assured her, his tone firm. "I've been blessed to have you return to me."

Hesitantly, she looked up. They smiled together, and the day suddenly seemed warmer, as if Summer had replaced the chilly Spring morning of the True North.

"Can I open my presents now?" Jon said, letting her hear his excitement.

She beamed up at him. "What are you waiting for?"

"Which one should I open first?"

"Maybe you should sit down," Arya said. "I'll give them to you in the order it should be given."

Jon sat on her feather bed and watched her. She retrieved all three parcels then sat on the bed too, laying the presents in the small space between them. She handed him the small square-shaped parcel first. He touched it carefully, running his fingers across the sultry red silk before untying the knot at the center. When it came loose, he pulled out a little wooden box. Inside was a beautifully detailed silver direwolf that was wrapped around a tiny copy of Needle, hung on a silver chain. He stared at it with bated breath, heart soaring at owning a likeness of Needle and wondering also why she would give him a sigil of her house.

"I know you're truly a Targaryen," she said, clearing her throat in her nervousness. "But you're a Stark too. I want you to know that to me, no matter what you want to be in the end, I will always consider you a Stark, my kin. And Needle. I missed you so much in all the years we were apart. But Needle kept me safe so many times. I never would have survived and come home to you if you hadn't gifted it to me that day in Winterfell, when we had first parted. Whenever I felt alone, Needle reminded me of you so much that it made me brave no matter what I faced. Family and friends kept dying or abandoning me. Some only kept me around to sell me for ransom. But with Needle, it was as if you were with me. I want you to know that feeling too."

He sucked in a breath at her words, his eyes becoming wet at her declaration. As a child, he had longed so much to be a trueborn Stark, like the rest of his siblings. Even though he was never going to be one because he was a Targaryen, her words made him believe her. It was just like the time when he had stood with Theon Greyjoy at Dragonstone, when he had told the broken man that he didn't have to choose - he could be a Greyjoy and he could also be a Stark. Jon could be a Targaryen and a Stark as well.

And _Needle_...

It was not just a sword when he had Mikken make it for her long ago. Those lonely days leading up to their painful parting, Jon wasn’t sure if he would ever see her again as their lord father was to bring her to Kings Landing. He wasn't foolish enough to not believe that the intention was to someday find a suitable betrothal for her at the capital. And so, at their parting, with his final gift to her, Jon had wanted her to never forget his love for her, that she would always be in his thoughts and prayers, and that despite the harsh expectations the world had for her as a noble little lady, he would always accept her no matter what.

"Thank you," he said wetly, pulling her against his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around her. They hovered over the other presents awkwardly but Jon didn't care.

Arya was looking at him with tears in her eyes too as she pulled away just enough so that she could reach around him to fasten the chain around his neck. When she finished, he looked down at the direwolf-sword pendant that now rested close to his heart, a broken part of him mending. He felt deeply connected to his Northern roots, from where he inherited the blood of Winter Kings, just like Arya Stark. His mother Lyanna Stark's blood flowed through his veins, the same as Eddard Stark's did for Arya. They were forever connected by blood. For the first time in a long time, he felt no conflict in his heart. He had no choice in being a Targaryen but Arya still saw him as a Stark as well. It mattered that the acceptance came directly from her.

And more importantly, Jon felt her love too at all the little details of this gift, and the thought she must have given it. He was so happy that even if he wasn’t with her when they had been apart, she still felt his presence from so far away as he intended with Needle by her side.

"Where did you get this made?" he asked curiously.

"In Pyke before I set off on my journey across the sea," she said, looking up at him with barely-restrained agony. "I had it made because I promised myself that I would one day return to gift it to you. Know that I regret ever leaving you. And I’ll make up for it my whole life if I have to."

"Oh, Arya..." Jon said, sniffing and wiping his tears with his sleeve. “There is nothing to forgive. Please, stop feeling guilty for it.”

Her own tears finally fell down her cheeks. He reached out and touched them carefully, wiping them away. She shook her head, almost looking upset at her own tears.

"There's more," she said, handing him the next parcel. "Don't distract me, Jon."

He laughed lightly as he wiped his eyes again, wondering what the next parcel was. It had a hefty weight and as he held it in in hands, he was already sure that it was a weapon. He untied the knot and unfurled the silk, which had been wrapped tightly around the object. As he suspected, inside it was a dagger. But this dagger looked familiar: Valyrian steel blade, elaborate curved hilt made of dragonbone, and with an orb decorating it. This was the Cat's Paw dagger, the one that had killed the Night King and ended the Long Night.

Shocked, Jon looked up to stare at Arya. She was smiling gently at him.

"Look closer." Arya said.

When he pulled the blade from the scabbard and inspected it closer, he was surprised to see some other details on it: on the blade, a long dragon had been engraved across the steel and on its hilt, the orb was blue instead of red. He looked up at Arya in confusion. "Was it modified?"

She shook her head with a grin. "No, I still have mine," she said, pointing at the Cat's Paw dagger that was peeking beneath her pillow, its red orb glinting in the sunlight. "See?"

"I don't understand." he said, unable to comprehend how she had gotten ahold of an almost exact replica of her dagger.

"I found a master smith in my travels across the sea. He could forge Valyrian steel weapons as if it was nothing. I could barely understand the thick accent of his High Valyrian but I managed to get him to make a twin to the Cat's Paw Dagger. Since I was already going to give you a direwolf sigil, I figured you would want something from your Targaryen roots so I got him to add the dragon detail. As for the blue orb, well it would be easier to distinguish which one was yours and which one was mine if they were different colours."

Jon grinned at her, loving this present as he stared at it in wonder. He would wear it proudly at his hip alongside Longclaw. He and Arya would match. He would like that very much.

”Does it have a name?” he asked her eagerly, reminded of the day when he had given her Needle, when they had parted for the first time back in Winterfell.

”Dragonheart,” Arya said with a grin. “Because you have my heart, my Dragon King.”

"You're incredible," Jon told her, standing up and dropping the weapon on her bed. He pulled her up and held her close, spinning her around her bedroom floor in joy before leaning down and taking her breath away as he kissed her deeply. When he pulled away, she looked dizzy in the circle of his arms, where he wanted to keep her forever. "How did I come to deserve you?"

"Stop," she said, her face flushing at his words. "You're embarrassing me."

"I'm embarrassing you?" he asked, grinning as he kissed her all over her face. "I will do more than embarrass you if you're not careful."

"One more," she said, cocking her head to the side as she gestured to the last present on the bed. "And then I'll give you what you really want."

"Is that a promise?" he said, voice lowering an octave as he let her hear his desire for her.

"I promise," she said, with a small smile.

They remained standing as Arya reached down for the final gift, the smallest one. Jon took it from her hand as she handed it to him, wondering why such a tiny item could be considered a gift. He almost wanted to make a game of it: was it a small gem, a dragon symbol, or a tiny rock that she had found that had his name etched on it? He unwound the tightly furled strips of silk slowly, very curious.

When the item was revealed, he was almost disappointed. It was nothing but an iron coin, and it didn't seem to be of significant value. He glanced up to see her watching him closely with bated breath then looked down again to observe the coin more closely as it lay coldly in the middle of his palm.

One side showed a man's head, his face so worn that his features have rubbed off. And on the other side was the words of a foreign House: _Valar Morghulis_ and _Valar Dohaeris_.

Jon had heard these words before, uttered by Greyworm's men. He had always wondered what it meant. He had meant to ask Ser Davos once but he had gotten distracted by other tasks. He wondered why this coin was important to Arya.

"What do these words mean?" he asked, watching her closely. She swallowed nervously and it made him feel concerned. Was it related to her time as a courtesan in training?

She spoke slowly, as if she was afraid of his reaction. "All men must die. And all men must serve. It is the motto of the House of Black and White in Braavos. The Faceless Men."

Jon was still confused. He has heard of the Faceless Men before. Just like the world-renowned courtesans of Braavos, the guild was infamous too. They were known for having the best assassins in the world and their price was extraordinarily high. From what little he'd heard of them, he knew that they were a secretive society that could use magic to shapeshift into other people. Their brutal training was nihilistic as they discarded their identity. He didn't know why Arya would have their coin though. As far as he knows, the death cult would never associate themselves with a child.

She reached up and slowly closed his fingers around the coin, her hands trembling in his before she pulled away.

Jon grew suspicious as he looked at her eyes, at the fear of rejection he could clearly see in them.

It was all making sense now, this terrible truth, but he had to hear it from her.

"Tell me," he said, his voice a whisper as he felt daggers at his heart. "Tell it true."

She did. She told him about traveling away from Kings Landing with Yoren and his Night's Watch recruits: a band of orphans and criminals. Yoren had cut her hair and she was passed off as a little boy to conceal her identity as they made their way to the Wall. She told him about the attack of the Lannister men on their party and being captured and taken to Harrenhal.

She told him about the foreign prisoner who had gifted her three wishes - but these wishes were deaths of her choosing. This man had been a Faceless Man and had given her the little iron coin. Later on, as she boarded a ship after she ran away from the dying Hound who had kidnapped her for ransom, she had used it to gain safe passage away from the war in Westeros. She had wanted so much to go North to him but the ship had not been heading in that direction. It was going to Braavos. She had nothing left at that point, no money and no other means to get to Jon. When she showed the coin to the captain, he agreed to bring her to the House of Black and White.

"What did they make you do?" he asked, gritting his teeth in anger as he feared to hear about her time there. It broke his heart to hear her story, and frustrated him greatly that during her time of struggle in the War of the Five Kings, all she had wanted was to go back home to him. She had done all that she could to try to go to the Wall but Jon had not been able to do the same for her, to leave his post to save her.

"It's not all bad," she said, trying to reassure him with a smile. "There was a Kindly Man who made sure I learned many things - each day, I had to learn three things in the city before I went back for the night. I learned to speak many languages. I was apprenticed outside too, as a mummer and then as a courtesan in training where I learned to sing and dance. I learned so many weapons outside of using steel. I learned all the poisons, as well as the potions and tonics that could heal others. I learned how to distinguish lies from truth. And I learned how to move quietly...” she trailed off, chewing on her bottom lip.

"They trained you to be an assassin," Jon said the horrible words she couldn't say. "In exchange for food and shelter, they made you into a killer."

"I was already a killer," she confessed, shame burning in the depths of her eyes. "Before Father was executed, I murdered a boy who was not much older than me. I killed so many others before I even set foot in Braavos. The Faceless Men taught me to be more effective."

"You were a child." he said with tears in his eyes once more. How could they do that to her?

"I'm sorry, Jon," she said, looking down as her shoulders began to shake quietly, as she suppressed the sob that wanted to break away from her. "Do you hate me now?"

He wanted to take her pain away and was frustrated that he couldn’t. With one hand clasped tightly to the iron coin, he pulled her close and pressed her face against his chest, running his fingers through her hair soothingly. She was trembling, quietly sobbing as even now, she tried to be brave. She has been brave for far too long.

”I don’t hate you and I never will.” he said to her in a voice that shook in emotion. He tried to find a way to make her feel better, tried to find the right words. “You've gone through a lot but it has also strengthened you. Your enemies fell to make way for your journey home. And besides, it may have aided you with our greatest enemy. Maybe these things they had taught you had benefitted us all. Maybe it had helped save Westeros from the Others. Only a trained assassin could’ve ended the Night King because he avoided all close combat duels and confrontations.”

“Maybe. Who knows?” Her shoulders shook in a bitter laugh. “Some present, right? I just thought I couldn’t truly give myself to you if you didn’t know what I’ve become. I have so many other things to tell you, evil deeds that I committed after I came back from Braavos. Do you want to hear them all today?”

Jon wanted to but he found himself shaking his head, unable to bear hearing any more. Furiously, he wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “It doesn’t matter now. I have my own sins too. We both survived. That’s the only thing that matters to me.”

She sighed deeply against his chest. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m sorry if I upset you. I told you I wasn’t good at this. I shouldn’t have given you the iron coin.”

Jon pulled back and looked deeply into her wet eyes. “I needed to hear it. You are mine now, little wolf. There shouldn’t be any more secrets between us if we could help it.”

Arya nodded slowly, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. But then she took a deep breath, her eyes firming in resolve as if she had made up her mind about something.

Jon’s brows rose up in surprise when she went on her knees on the wool rug that covered the bedroom floor, her deft fingers undoing the laces of his breeches. Gasping, he put his hands on her slim shoulders as he stared down at the long hair that framed her flushed face. “What are you doing?”

Her eyes were wide and she almost looked innocent as she stared up at him, her quick fingers pulling out his hardening cock from beneath his smallclothes. “An extra special gift?”

Jon couldn’t help but laugh lightly, amused despite the heat that flooded his whole body. “You don’t have to, sweet girl.”

”Then it could be your gift to me. I’ve wondered for years what this tasted like.” she said playfully.

”Oh dear gods...” he said as she leaned forward to lick at the clear liquid at the slit of his cock with the eager tip of her tongue. He felt dizzy as she curiously wrapped her lips around the sensitive head, sucking lightly as her tongue swirled around the sensitive nerves of his foreskin. He buried his hands in her thick locks, mussing it as she slowly swallowed him further, tongue swiping against the vein on the underside of his cock. “Where did you learn - no, _don’t answer that!_ ” he rambled as his eyes seemed to roll back as she started to move her lips up and down his length, her small hands massaging his sensitive balls.

”Fuck!” he cursed hotly.

She pulled back slightly to experimentally suck again at the head before pulling away to lick boldly down the length, from root to tip. His cock twitched as she caressed it gently with her fingers like a prayer. She pressed her nose in the curls around his cock, inhaling his scent and the wicked sight almost made him come.

Looking up at his eyes, she took a deep breath through her nose and opened her mouth to take all of him in. She relaxed her throat skillfully as she swallowed him from root to tip, her cheeks bright red. It was difficult to hold himself back with her looking up at him from the floor with so much eagerness to please him. She held his hips with her hands and urged him to move, to use her mouth and take his pleasure.

Jon stared down at the sinful sight of his little sister-cousin on her knees with her pretty lips around the entire length of his cock and he almost lost it. Slowly, he began to thrust forward, knees almost trembling. He fucked her mouth, watching her the whole time as he wanted to commit this memory to his mind.

In turn, she hummed appreciatively, causing a jolt of pleasure around his cock at the vibrations from her throat. There were tears at the sides of her eyes from her exertion but she looked so greedy for him that he couldn't stop. He fucked her for as long as he could, savouring the pleasure until his balls tightened and he could feel his impending release.

” _Arya!_ ” he cried as he tried to pull away from her throat as he felt himself coming, not wanting to choke her with his seed. But it still went inside her mouth, spilling out and making a mess as it dribbled down her chin. He was panting hard as he shuddered, still feeling the after effects of his orgasm.

She made a face even as she swallowed the come that spilled inside her mouth. Immediately, Jon fell on his knees in front of her and licked the rest from her chin, helping her. They kissed deeply after that, sharing the bitter taste of his come between their tongues.

”That was...” Jon said as they parted, trailing off as he was lost for words. He was still catching his breath as they knelt together on the rug. It was hard to describe the rush of power of his orgasm. It blew his mind that Arya was able to take him apart that way, and he hoped that she would do that for him again soon.

Arya grinned at him, looking adorably rumpled. “Was that a good apology for the horrible third present?”

Jon couldn’t help but grin back, holding back his laughter. “You took my breath away and it's something I want to try again very soon. But what about you?” he asked, reaching forward to trail his thumbs lightly over the curve of her breasts. Beneath his hands, her nipples pebbled alluringly against the fabric of her tunic.

She gasped, shaking her head even as her eyes gleamed with pleasure. “Later. You said you wanted to talk?”

He cleared his throat as he tucked himself back into his smallclothes then redid the laces of his breeches. “Yes, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about...” he trailed off.

But the moment was interrupted by a sudden knocking at the front door. He sighed, not happy as he stood, looked himself over then turned to Arya. He smoothed her hair, making sure he fixed what he had messed up earlier, then swiped his thumb across her wet lips, a teasing grin on his own his lips as he left her to go to the front door.

When he opened it, he wasn’t surprised to see Satin’s black hair and eyes. Jon nodded to him in greeting as the other man bowed to him. “Would you like to come in?”

”No, milord. I have a long road ahead of me today. You said you had something for me before I left for Castle Black?”

”Ah, yes, one moment.” Jon said before going to his room to retrieve two letters, one for Bran and the other for Sam.

When he came back to the solar, he was surprised to see Arya at the doorway, standing with a curious expression as she held onto a sealed scroll. Jon watched her curiously, wondering who the letter had come from as he handed his own scrolls to Satin. In turn, the other man had an apologetic look in his eyes as he reached inside his travel pack and retrieved another scroll, this time giving it to Jon.

Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, Jon looked closely at his former steward. “These letters you just gave to me and Arya - you’ve had them all this time but didn’t give it to us. What are you playing at, Satin?”

Satin looked fearful as he bowed his head. “Begging your pardon, milord, milady, but I had strict instructions to give these to you at the last moment, before I had to leave.”

Jon sighed, annoyed. “I understand. Did the instructions say that it requires an answer?”

”No, milord.” Satin said, his voice shaky.

Jon was relieved. Coming back to his senses, he felt a rush of immense gratitude at the man who had been completely loyal to him over so many years. Above all others from his many friends and allies, Satin had remained true to him, more reliable than some of his own kin. He felt regret at his annoyance from moments ago and it made him wonder why he never trusted him completely. Perhaps he owed this man his true identity. Perhaps now was the right time to divulge it - it was better late than never.

"Satin," Jon said solemnly. At the look of curiosity on the other mans' face, his eyes softened. "You've been loyal to me above all others. I think there is something you should know. I think it's best that you heard it now."

Satin's eyebrows rose in surprise and he looked stricken with disbelief. "If it's about you and Arya, I promise I won't tell anyone!"

"What?" Jon asked, bewildered at his response. "What about me and Arya?"

"I won't judge you both for being together, I swear!"

Beside him, Arya's eyes narrowed as she bit her lip in worry. Jon felt dread at his words. But he took a deep breath to still his wildly beating heart, reminding himself that his relationship with Arya should not remain a secret to people he trusted. He shouldn’t be afraid to let them know about how special she was to him, how they belonged only to each other.

"Yes, we are together,” Jon admitted for the first time to another person besides Arya. “I'm sure your attentive eyes saw something yesterday. But the truth is, we are not truly siblings. I should have told you this a long time ago but there are only a handful that know about my true identity North of the Wall."

"You're not siblings?" Satin asked, his dark eyes wide in disbelief. Sudden relief made him smile suddenly at them both.

"No, we are cousins," Jon revealed. He felt odd at saying this word because it did not seem enough - what they were to each other, it was much greater than being cousins. Shifting to his revelation, his own history felt even more bizarre on his tongue as if it was someone else's tale. Even now, he still had a hard time believing it. "My father was Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and my mother was Lady Lyanna Stark. They married in secret and had me. Lord Eddark Stark adopted me as his own bastard son after my mother died, to protect me from King Robert Baratheon's vow to kill all Targaryen offspring. I found this out during the war in Winterfell."

"But that means you're supposed to be the King of the Seven Kingdoms!" Satin cried, his voice loud. His hands were shaking and there were tears in his eyes. His voice was reverent as he said, "All this time, I have been serving the true heir to the Iron throne."

Jon shook his head vehemently, heart quickening in his chest at hearing another person voice out this truth. "There is to be no talk of that. What's done is done. My cousin is King now."

With a sigh, Satin nodded solemnly. "As you wish," he said before smiling gently at the both of them. "Then that means you both can be free to be together. I was so worried for you both!"

"It won't be easy," Jon admitted, tentatively smiling back. "I am beyond the realms of the North and the Six Kingdoms now. If we stay here, we are doomed because of the practices of the Free Folk - that even cousins are not allowed to be together. But to be able to legally be together, the lords and ladies of the Southern Kingdoms first have to know who I truly am. And I can not do it while I am in exile."

"Then I hope there is something in the letters that will help you out," Satin said as he wiped his tears away with the back of his hand. His voice was full of affection as he told them, "After everything you've done for Westeros, you deserve to be happy. I will pray for you both, your grace - my King and my Princess."

Arya's voice was full of warmth. “We’re Jon and Arya remember? We are in the far north, the True North. We don’t like kneelers here.”

”Aye,” Satin said in reply to Arya, nodding with a grin. “But as always I am at your service.”

Jon smiled gently at him and beside him, Arya did too. He cleared his throat and pressed a small bag of coins to the other man’s hands. His voice was full of kindness. “And as always I appreciate it. One day, if I ever need of you again, I may call on you. You wouldn’t have to keep your employment at Castle Black, if we could find a way.”

Satin recoiled from the bag of coins, drawing away. “I cannot accept this.”

”You will,” Jon said, his voice more forceful. “You still need your meals and you should buy your man something special next time you visit him. Also, there are a lot of young orphan boys in need of cheering up back at Castle Black. A few sweets will come a long way.”

Reluctantly, because he was commanded, Satin took the coins. “As you wish. I bid you good bye for now, Jon and Arya. May the Faith of the Seven bless you both.”

”Aye, and may the Old Gods bless you as well.” Jon answered.

”Farewell and safe travels.” Arya said as Satin turned away from them with a smile, the door closing behind him.

Jon turned the scroll in his hand as he glanced down at it, recognising Bran’s direwolf-crow seal, before turning to look at Arya’s. On hers was the familiar direwolf seal of Winterfell. A cold chill seemed to run down his spine at just knowing who the scroll had come from. He almost felt foolish for he should have seen this coming. Sansa had probably put spies all over the Kings Road, waiting for her sister's return. And with just words on paper, she had the power to take away what was most precious to him.

Feeling angry, Jon grabbed the scroll from Arya and went to the hearth. She gasped in surprise, her eyes widening, but let him go. He had half a mind to throw the letter in the fire. Just as Jon was beyond the reach of the royal decrees from South of the Wall, so should Arya be. His hand hovered over the fire, itching to let go of the scroll. Sansa was _not_ their Queen - she will _not_ rule over their home, will _not_ ruin their hard-earned sanctuary.

Arya stared at him in silence from across the solar, waiting for his next move. Jon wished he could explain to her how much he'd been hurt by Sansa's broken vow, how he'd trusted her to keep this vow safe during the war and it had been broken immediately in the name of political gain. They had all gone through so much - Jon, Arya, Sansa and Bran. He thought he could trust Sansa to keep his secret safe - he thought that after everything they've all been through, the bonds of family would matter to her.

But it hadn't. Sansa had become too much of Littlefinger's student, used to Southron games and ploys, and just as full of ambition. How many people had to die because of that broken vow? Thousands had been burned alive in Kings Landing. Jon had almost died. Arya had almost died. Did family not matter to Sansa at all? Were they all just stepping stones in her ambition to become Queen?

 _What are you going to do?_  Arya's grey eyes seemed to ask. _Do you hate Sansa that much?_

With a heavy heart and a deep scowl, Jon crumpled the letter in his hand and threw it away from the fire instead, towards the surface of the table. His hands fisted in anger at his sides as he glared at the offending ball of paper. How was it fair that one person could have this much power? Why did she have to disturb their peace even at its infancy?

Sighing as he tried to control his rage, he threw Bran's letter to the table too, the paper crumpled as well. He went to Arya in his hurt and she welcomed him immediately with open arms, holding him tight around his waist as he buried his nose on top of her hair, needing her comfort. He held her too, his arms tightening around the back of her shoulders as he closed his eyes.

Her familiar scent was what home should smell like - like wild flowers and fresh pine, like snow and wolves, like warmth under furs in the cover of darkness, like two hearts beating as one as they lay together side by side.

"You matter to me more than them," Arya vowed to him fiercely. "More than Bran and more than Sansa. More than both of them."

"No," he said tiredly as he shook his head. "They are family too. We are better than that. Family, duty, honour, remember?"

When he opened his eyes and pulled away to look down at her, Arya was looking up at him with wonder. "My mother's House motto." she said with so much awe for him that the darkness in his heart disappeared.

"We were all raised to commit this to our hearts after all - all of us who were under our lord father's protection," he said, smiling down at her gently. "Am I not a Stark as well?"

She nodded slowly but her lips were frowning. She had regret in her voice as she said, "I'm sorry that Sansa broke her vow, Jon."

"Don't apologise for her," he said to her fiercely, shaking his head. "She does not deserve to have you apologising for her. And I really should have known better," he said forlornly.

Jon studied her now as she looked up at him with unwavering devotion in her grey eyes, his heart feeling lighter immediately. He reached down and tucked her hair behind an ear, his lips quirking up a little as he wanted to lighten the mood. "Remember what we always said about her when we were children?"

She blinked in recognition before her eyes lightened up as she remembered. They said it together now, the familiar words from before.

_"... don't... tell... Sansa!"_

***

Jon made sure to abandon the crumpled letters at the table, as if to make a point. He led Arya out of their little cabin, determined not to let the power of kings and queens reign over them in their own home. Together, they made a journey only for themselves, breathing in the fresh pine air while morning snow crunched under their boots.

With their gloved hands pressed together, they ascended and scrambled along the mountain for hours as they went northwards and upwards, their breaths fogging up as it got colder the higher they went. The mountains were covered with a carpet of green trees, shrubs, grass and ferns but also the fresh powder of untouched morning snow. From carved rocky outcrops, waterfalls fell, and in the fields beyond the horizon of outcroppings, they could see the silver glint of rivers and the mirror-like flash of a mountain lake that was a shocking colour of bright blue, as if it reflected a bright summer sky. It was only when they were so close to the summit that they stopped for before them was an endless sea of wildflowers in the shades of blue, pink, purple and yellow, wild and fragrant as it danced in the wind of a day so grey.

This was Jon's place, somewhere he'd always meant to share with Arya. Up here, he couldn’t care less of the conflict that troubled the lands around him. The mountains were all that mattered here. This was beyond the reach of other people’s power, where he and Arya will not be bound to the rules and regulations of this world.

They stood in awe as the great landscape loomed above them and below them, dwarfed by the white-fanged dark mountains that soared upwards as if determined to kiss the heavens, the sea of misty green forests and fields of wild flowers, the sight of the Frozen Shores to the west, the endless white snow fields of the Lands of Always Winter to the north, the Frostfangs mountains lying in a great line like the spine of a long-dead dragon to the east, and finally, high above, the dim mid-day Northern sun amidst a broody grey sky. Without a word passing between them, as their hands were still clasped tightly together, their hearts knew it to be a sacred place and it stilled their minds.

They stayed there for hours, sitting on a smooth flat rock as they wrapped their fur cloaks tightly around each other as they reminisced together, speaking about the memories from long ago that were dear to their hearts. They talked about Winterfell and all their favourite places as they grew up: the kitchens where they would steal blackberry tarts, the godswood where they would pray together, the moats and pools where they would swim naked together in the warm days of summer, and finally Jon's bedchambers where Arya always crept into at night for either comfort, sanctuary, or just to share his warmth. They also spoke about the people they knew: Ser Rodrick, Maester Luwin, Septa Mordane, Jory, Old Nan and Hodor. They even spoke about Theon and Jeyne in hushed whispers.

Soon, they couldn't help but reminisce about their own family: his noble adoptive lord uncle-father who was honourable until his last breath, Lady Catelyn who had wounded him as a child but was now just a distant memory, and Robb who they both loved and admired, and whose bride and unborn child had perished violently with him in the Red Wedding. They spoke of their poor little Rickon who was lost for ever to them, never found again despite the efforts of Lord Davos Seaworth who had been sent to the wildling island of Skagos where he had last been seen. Finally, they spoke of Bran who they had loved dearly as a child and had become so mysterious and changed after he had emerged from beyond the Wall, with his powers of greenseering that had been taught to him by an entity they only knew as _Bloodraven_ - Bran who became an unexpected King of the Six Kingdoms and was even more mystifying to them now. Lastly, they spoke of their sister Sansa.

Jon's whole body tensed as he spoke of the anger that coursed through his veins, at his disappointment at the broken vow. He unleashed all his rage and hurt, shaking and growling with only Arya to see his raw emotions. By the end of his rant, he felt weary and could speak no more. But Arya stayed with him through it all, holding his hand with understanding in her eyes, accepting all of him, even the near-hatred that coursed through his veins. When they were both silent once more, she pressed herself to his side with warm affection, a balm against all the wounds inside him.

When they started to descend the mountain again, Jon felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted. They began to smile again at each other, teasing each other with japes, and being affectionate with wild stolen kisses against trees and warm embraces whenever a passing frozen breeze blew too coldly. Soon, they were halfway back towards their cabin, walking slowly through a forest. Ahead of him, Arya's face was full of quiet admiration as she kept flitting to all the flowers she didn't yet know, just as he always thought she would.

They were in the pine woods now, at a standstill because Arya was beaming as she knelt carelessly on the ground, surrounded by a sea of purple wildling flowers that peeked up from the light snow that covered the forest floor, its scent so sweet. She was picking the best ones, collecting them until her fingers were locked tight around a bundle. It made him smile, reminded of all the times when she had been a child who used to pick flowers for their father. Sometimes she would even give him his own bundle, making him smile, and causing Robb to tease them both as he feigned jealousy because of her obvious favoritism and endless love for Jon.

 _Wintersweet_ , he recalled the flower's name now with fondness. _Beautiful blossoms that could survive harsh winter snows and still be so sweet, just like you, my love._

Looking at her now, it was hard to believe that she been through so much strife and had survived endless wars, that she had even gained enough deadly skills to defeat the darkness that plagued these lands. If things had been different and the wars hadn't claimed the lives of their family as well as her youth and innocence, their lord father might have been successful in finding a match for her in Kings Landing, where he would have never been able to see her again, for ever a member of the Night's Watch. It was a horrid thought but in a way, he was relieved that fate had intervened so that they found their way to each other again.

"What are you thinking about, Jon?" Arya asked with an amused grin as she rose from the ground and went to him, her hands full of the purple blossoms she had picked. Playfully, she reached up to tuck some flowers in his hair.

Jon laughed at her antics but let her be. With a small smile, he asked her, "Do you remember what you said to me before we parted the first time?"

Her eyes squinted as she tried to remember. She blinked rapidly all of a sudden as she did recall. "I said that I wish you were coming with us."

"And I said to you:  _Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle._ " he said. His stomach fluttered painfully suddenly as he recalled the vivid agony leading up to their parting. It was as if this had happened just yesterday, when they had been forced to part for the first time. It was as if he was fourteen again, hardly a man grown, who had to leave for the Wall as his little sister had to leave home for Kings Landing.

Arya had been his final farewell, the dearest to his heart. He had kept Uncle Benjen waiting for over an hour. He kept putting off this painful parting as long as he could and when he finally went to her bedroom to give her his heartfelt gift, it had been difficult to leave.

But she had made him feel better too in her lovely fierceness, in the way she made him smile - she had been the only one who could make him smile for true. From the very start, Arya had loved him unconditionally. On the long road North, it was the memory of her laughter that had warmed him and nothing else. For he too had loved her unconditionally with all his heart.

Shivering despite being wrapped in the warm pale blue cloak he had gifted to her, Arya nodded to him now with sadness in her eyes as if she remembered that day too. He could see the same longing, the same hurt in the way she looked at him. It was almost as if she was still that child from years ago, looking up at him with fierce longing as all he could do for her back then was to give her a parting gift and hope that she would never forget him.

And she _never_ did. She said so this morning when she'd given him her gifts, with so much heartfelt meaning behind all of them. Absently, as he watched her, he reached up and touched the silver direwolf-sword pendant that lay against his heart. His heart clenched inside his chest as he longed so deeply for her even now.

"We've been apart for many years now but somehow we found each other again," Jon said solemnly before taking her smaller hands in his. He couldn't help but grin in amusement when he noticed the bundle of flowers they now held together, this dream of spring between their hands. He looked up again and met her eyes with affection. "You should know that I don't intend to part with you ever again. If you must ride south, I will ride south with you. Even if I am in exile, I will be with you and shall never leave your side, no matter the consequence. Nothing can come between us ever again."

"Jon," she said, shaking her head. A fierce wolf-like determination burned brightly in her eyes, her jaw rigid as she declared to him, "I am your sworn shield. I will never let you get hurt because of me. And so if I am summoned while you are still exiled, I will not go. Why should I when my place is with you?"

A breath of relief left him all of a sudden, and he was surprised at this for he had not realised that he had been holding his breath. Still, he shook his head too. "There are still so many things to talk about. I wanted to speak to you about what we are now to each other. How we've hurried this along and had become so carnal with each other. I should have started with a courtship. It's what you deserve."

Her lips quirked upward and she laughed lightly in amusement. Her voice was teasing. "That would have been quite something. It's not too late to start, you know? I've never been courted before."

"Ah, of course," he said with a sudden heavy heart as a flash of black hair and blue eyes came to his mind. He couldn't help but feel suddenly grumpy as he recalled her first lover, Lord Baratheon. "I suppose he didn’t court you too."

She rolled her eyes in half-hearted annoyance, pulling her hands away from his as she crossed her arms. The flowers in her hands crumpled as she frowned at him. "We shouldn’t speak about old lovers now, Jon."

"Fair enough," he had to force himself to say for he was still vexed at the thought of the bastard smith turned lord. He had thought they could be friends once when they first met each other at Dragonstone. He wasn’t sure if that was still possible now. "It doesn’t mean I have to like him."

Her stance almost defensive, Arya stared at him for half a heartbeat before her eyes lit up in recognition at what he was feeling. Carefully, she said, "I didn't know you were jealous, Jon."

He couldn't deny it. With a frown, he said to her, "I hope we never ever see him again."

Her eyes softened in understanding and he shook his head with a weary sigh, taking the purple blossoms from her hands and carefully putting it all over her unbound hair, crowning her with flowers. She smiled at his actions.

"You were jealous too last night, weren't you?" he asked her, careful now with his words as he knew the agony of jealousy all too well. "Of Ygritte?"

A dark cloud seemed to pass over her suddenly as she nodded slowly. He regretted his words immediately. Hesitantly, she seemed to force out the words, "You still live with her kin. You must have loved her a great deal."

"Just as you had loved Gendry a great deal?" he said, not answering her question. He couldn't help but ask this now, to know what was truly in her heart. Just saying the words wounded him.

Arya looked down, not meeting his eyes. He was afraid of her answer, afraid that she would tear his heart apart. When she looked up again, the anguish was plain in her face. Her voice was full of restrained ache when she finally spoke. "He and I had shared a great deal on the road from Kings Landing when I was a child. We had survived many things together and had witnessed unspeakable acts by people that were worse than the wights that came to Winterfell. I will never forget him because he was the greatest friend I've ever had."

The words were like knives. It pained him to hear this because someone else had taken his rightful place next to her when she had needed him the most. What he would give now to be able to turn back time and take Gendry's place during her greatest time of need. But there was no way to reverse time or alter the events of their lives. He would have to learn to accept this, just as she had to learn to accept his own history with Ygritte. And yet...

"So when you both were reunited in Winterfell, all these feelings came back?" he couldn't help but ask, bitterness and jealousy burning so hotly inside his veins. The monster that he became after he was resurrected lingered just beneath the surface and he couldn’t help but whisper, "Enough to give him your maidenhead?"

"Stop," she said, her face falling as she turned away from him. Her eyes closed in defeat at his probing questions. "We all thought we were going to die. I expected to die. And I wanted to feel loved before I died. Because you..." she hesitated for a heartbeat before the words spilled from her mouth in a shaky voice. "Because I thought you no longer loved me."

"Arya, I never stopped loving you!" he cried, pained that she would think this of him, that she would ever doubt him.

"No," she said in a soft voice. Her back was rigid in restrained emotion. "No, Jon. I was _in love_ with you. When you were a King with a Queen by your side, my heart had been broken."

He was shocked at her words, as if he had been suddenly punched in the gut and the wind had been knocked out of him. He remembered her now back in Winterfell after they had reunited, a lovely girl who was always at the periphery of his vision, eager to be close to him, wanting to be near him always, and sometimes, even hovering at the door to his chambers, as if she wanted to go to him and share his bed like she used to as a child. He'd always mussed her hair and smiled kindly before sending her on her way. He'd always find an excuse, always spent even more time with the Dragon Queen so as to discourage Arya's longing for his affections.

"Arya," he said. He turned her around and held on to her shoulders tightly as he looked deeply into the grey eyes that were so full of hurt that it broke his own heart. "Know this: those two women who had been my lovers. They had never known the love that was only yours to keep. My early childhood was so lonely until you came into this world. I had prayed to the Old Gods in my agony and you were their answer. You were the only one who could make me smile. Even when you were a child and it was hardly appropriate, you were the one I truly longed for. Every woman that caught my attention only did because they would remind me of you, of your tangled hair, your fierceness, everything. From the moment I met you as a babe, you've had my heart. As children who had been the outcasts in our family, you and I had loved each other above all others. You loved me when I had nothing, no lands, no titles, and not even name. You love me even now, exiled and without a future to offer you. You are the only woman for me."

"And you are the only man for me," she said to him immediately, without hesitation as she looked up at him with complete love and devotion. "I loved you before I knew what love meant. I have fallen in love with you more times than I could count. Lands and titles mean nothing to me if I can't remain by your side because you're all that matters to me. There is nowhere else that I belong. You are my North. You are my home."

Tears welled up in his eyes, his heart heavy and light at the same time at both of their declarations to each other. He went down on his knees and held her hands as he looked up at her grey eyes. He spoke now with nothing but honesty, ready to surrender all of him to her. “I love you more than anything else in the world. There is no one else more beautiful to me and I would die and rise for you a thousand times over again and again. Hundreds will die by my sword if anyone dared to hurt you. My wolf girl, Arya, it would mean the world if you married me,” Jon said to her with all the love he could muster, his heart bursting. "You are my heart and I will not allow you to ever be parted from me again. In exile or wherever the road takes us, as long as we're together always."

Her eyes widened and tears came to her too. She looked shocked beyond words, that he would ask this of her. But not even a heartbeat later, her lips curved upwards as she beamed down at him with complete happiness. She fell to her knees and wrapped her skinny arms around his neck, whispering lovingly in his ear, "I will marry you, Jon. No matter where we have to be - in our cabin, in the forests, or even in a far-off island across the Sunset Sea if it must come to that. As long as I will never be apart from you again."

The tears fell finally as he felt a surge of relief at hearing her words. He pulled her close against his body and they held each other tightly in a fierce embrace, warm in each other's arms.

Around them, he noticed for the first time that snow was falling all around them - it was all over her hair, her lashes, her lips. His heart was singing inside his chest as he smiled from ear to ear. He committed the fond memory to his mind - the snow, the purple flowers, and the smell of pine - before cradling the back of her head then leaning down. He bent close with a smile as she tried to press her lips to his. But he leaned back ever so slightly in a tease, as he inhaled the sweet smell of her soap and the fresh mint flavour of her hot breath. His mouth just hovered above hers while his voice trailed to a whisper, "I will always love you, Arya. I am yours always just as I have always been."

"And I will always love you, Jon. I am yours even beyond death. My heart belongs only to you." Arya replied. Her whole face was flushed, her bottom lip trembling in anticipation as she breathed so shallowly in her euphoria. Her unconditional love for him made his heart flutter and he had no doubt in his mind that he will not find a more beautiful person in his life. He was fortunate that she will always be  _his_.

His eyelids fell shut as he moved like a man in a trance, compelled to graze his lips against hers. Upon the slightest of touches, their shallow breathing became one as he pressed his mouth against hers. And then, in a ragged beat of his heart, she melted into him with a familiarity that destroyed all restraint. In a catch of her breath, he took her lips by force, letting her feel all his passion in the way his mouth devoured her. His fingers tightened in her hair and she moaned softly in surrender, making him smile against her lips, and causing her to smile back in return. Their tongues slid against each other, wet and wanting so much more. He couldn't fight it even if he tried, the addiction of his whole body to her, as if she had drugged him completely. It was an addiction of the body, the mind, the heart, and the soul. He belonged to her completely, just as she belonged to him. He clutched her body to his, deepening the kiss.

It was a very loud bark that broke them apart and suddenly, two direwolves that were nearly the size of horses were jumping up at them with their heavy paws. It caused them both to tumble to the snow-covered ground, purple flowers falling all around them as they laughed together so much that their sides began to ache.

Ghost and Nymeria were both licking their faces excitedly, as if they too were celebrating with them. They both grinned at each other as the direwolves surrounded them, fur and snow and flowers all jumbled together in the warmth of their betrothal. Their eyes met over the joyful exuberance of their direwolves, and in each other's grey depths, they could see their future together, warm and bright, and full of laughter: a wolf pack of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Second to the last chapter before they get moving!  
> (2) I put a lot of thought into the proposal and hope this one was sufficient! :)  
> (3) Thoughts on Arya's gifts to Jon? :)  
> (4) Next chapter hopefully in another week!  
> (5) Let me know what you all think! I thrive on comments and love speaking to you all! Thanks so much for sharing this journey with Jon and Arya.


	10. The Summons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit warning.

**Arya Stark**

Upon their return to the cabin, the letters lay forgotten on the table yet again.

In the warm afterglow of their betrothal, they were overcome with a feral passion long before they returned from their long walk. As soon as they were back inside, Jon had pressed her against the back of the front door with force. They clung to each other as their lips met in a consuming kiss.

Burning desire enflamed them to tear clothes from one another, their hands touching everything, their hearts wanting everything. Jon took her every which way in every surface of every room, their bodies mating wildly like direwolves and dragons long after the sun had set.

When Jon had finished coming yet again and pulled away from between her legs, both of them were sweaty and she could barely move. She was panting in exhaustion at Jon's desk in his chambers, still sitting on it with her knees against her chest, legs splayed as come dribbled out from her slit and and ran down towards the table's surface. In front of her, Jon collapsed on a chair with a satisfied groan and watched her with dark eyes, studying the wicked sight of the mess he had made of her cunt.

Arya gasped and lost her composure with a scream as Jon buried his head between her thighs and licked her, catching every drop of spend that coated her folds. She moaned loudly as he plunged his tongue deep inside her sensitive hole, the wet slide making her gasp brokenly as he began to move his head back and forth, fucking her again and making her wanton. She was convulsing around his tongue as she clutched his head, pulling at his hair and sounding far too needy as she gasped his name brokenly.

But then he broke away all of a sudden, making her almost whine, before he captured her swollen clit inside his lips and sucked gently, with a light graze of his teeth and licking motions from his tongue. He pressed two long fingers inside her, thrusting at the sinful spot inside that he knew so well as he kept sucking her little bud, unrelenting as he pleasured those two sensitive nerves that made her mad in her desire.

Arya was almost crying at how good it felt and he kept doing this to her for a long time, until her thighs quivered as she tried to close it because of the mounting rush of overwhelming pleasure. Panting and throwing her head back against the rough tapestry on the wall behind her naked back, her whole body shuddered and became tight as a bowstring as a warm gush of release flooded out of her. She cried out loudly, her cunt throbbing as Jon continued to pleasure her with his fingers and his mouth, swallowing everything that she could give him.

When it was over, Jon pulled his fingers out and licked her again, cleaning her gently like a wolf, bathing her with his warm saliva as she looked down at him with satisfaction deep inside her belly. He looked good between her legs, with a feral glint in his eyes and his wet mouth, slippery tongue and rough beard on her sensitive cunt as if he belonged there, making her wolf-blood howl inside her veins. That was probably her favourite place for him now, especially when she needed him the most.

When Jon finally pulled away, he had a pleased smile on his lips as he licked it with relish. Their eyes met and Jon touched her again with gentle fingers, obsessed with her. But this time, he was sweet as the fire of lust died down into fond warmth, as he petted her soft mound and folds with care and love.

"I'm addicted to you." Jon admitted, and the light from the candle and the fire from the hearth made his grey eyes glint almost purple, reminding Arya of his Targaryen roots. It made her think of the madness of the love story between Rhaegar and Lyanna, Jon's parents - the passion and love they had for each other that had been so great but so terrible at the same time that thousands had died in war because of it.

Jon pulled her down from the table to place her on his lap so that her legs were on either side of him, their naked bodies flush together. Their breaths mingled as Jon looked down at her with a fire that consumed her so deeply that it made her heart beat so quickly inside her chest. Leaning down, he whispered hotly in her ear with a dark smile, "I'm addicted to my bride."

Her whole body trembled at just hearing it. She closed her eyes and drew in a breath as his arms tightened around her waist, eager to surrender to him as their lips met.

***

They were so ravenous after they had finally decided to finish their love-making for the night despite the carnal hunger that still lingered in their needy bodies. There was a different form of hunger that caused their stomach to growl loudly however, making them realise they haven't eaten anything since early morn.

Arya hurriedly pulled on one of Jon's tunics from the floor and went to the kitchen to look for something for them to eat. She didn't really want to have to cook because the combination of the long walk and their carnal activities had drained her completely, making her knees feel weak and shaky with each step she took. She piled a plate high with dried fruit, cheese, cured ham, bread and jam. On another plate, she put oatcakes and drizzled it with honey. Jon joined her soon after with a bottle of Arbor gold, opening it and filling two glasses with it.

They sat together in front of the hearth of the solar, at the furs where he had first taken her on the night of her arrival. As they ate and drank to their heart's content, they couldn't help but watch each other closely, completely immersed in their love for each other.

"Let us drink to our betrothal," Jon said to her, raising his glass. "The Old Gods have been kind to us, allowing us to find each other again after all these years apart."

"To our betrothal," she said, raising her glass to their hard-earned happiness. "To the home you've built for us, to our sweet reunion, and to you."

"And to you." Jon said, his gaze softening as he smiled at her sweetly.

They drank their fill, the flavour languorous and heady on the tongue.

***

They slept peacefully that night, still ignoring the letters for they didn't want it to ruin such a momentous day for them.

On the morrow, they finally forced themselves to sit together at the table, grimly watching the two crumpled papers that were sitting innocently atop its polished surface.

Jon's jaw was clenched, and he looked as if he would like to be anywhere else than be there, while Arya chewed worriedly at her bottom lip, hoping that they were both just worrying over nothing. Finally, Jon reached for one of the scrolls, giving her a meaningful look as he did.

"Together?" he asked.

She nodded her head in acquiescence. "Together."

Without caring about the order, they opened the first scroll and read Sansa's letter first:

_Arya,_

_I hope this reaches you in time. I am happy to hear about your return. If you are receiving this, it means you have gone straight to Castle Black, to your favourite sibling, and bypassed Winterfell._

_I had hoped that you would have stopped by your ancestral home to visit me and the crypts containing the bones of our father but I also understand that Jon is the person you have missed the most so you will have understandably gone straight to him. I hope he is well._

_I am writing to you now to summon you back to Winterfell to fulfil your family duty. Matters regarding the seat of the North need to be discussed as soon as possible for the North is filled with unrest. I intend to make you my heir, until the time that I have a babe to call my own._

_As soon as you receive this letter, write me back. Give me warning once you are about to set forth for home from Castle Black so that I could ready for you a Spring Feast. The Northern bannermen will also be present to celebrate your long-awaited return._

_Winterfell has missed its hero and its Princess, and I have missed my sister._

_Sansa Stark_  
_Queen in the North_

  
Arya’s heart seemed to stop as she stared at the words in her sister’s pretty handwriting. She felt frozen, unable to move in her shock as her stomach twisted uncomfortably. This is not at all what she expected. With wide eyes, Arya glanced up to look at Jon’s reaction. Their eyes met and he had a look of disbelief on his face, suspicion etched in the crease between his brows.

"I don't understand," Arya said, blinking in confusion. "Why does she need me?"

Jon was silent, his face contorting as a multitude of emotions seemed to rush through him. It was as if he was fighting a war inside himself, the hands he had on the table opening and closing into fists.

The summons was definitely a shock with all the positive words, but there was something hidden beneath the surface too. Sansa had always been a master of courtesies, even from a young age. Was there a deeper issue that she wasn't telling them? Was it a trap? Could Arya trust in her sister's word that this was all that was needed? For her to be a temporary placeholder so as to promote stability? In this way, will she be doing her duty to the North as a member of House Stark? What would her father want her to do?

After the silence between them stretched on for what seemed like hours as they kept rereading the letter, Jon sighed deeply and finally forced himself to state his thoughts:

"The Northern bannermen are hard to please. You are her solution to her lack of heir if they've been grumbling so much about it," Jon said unhappily, sounding so tired. He was rubbing the side of his head, as if he was nursing a headache. "They have always been demanding. They had wanted me to marry a number of their daughters as soon as I became King, which was so absurd because we were in the middle of a war and I knew they only sought to have a piece of the power of my crown. They longed to put their daughters in a position of power, who they will ultimately control of course," And in a lower voice that held a lot of contempt, he said, "When they learned that you had finally flowered after you had just returned to Winterfell, do you know how many lords had offered to marry you?"

Shocked at hearing this revelation, Arya met his eyes again and saw savage bloodlust in its depths. It was all too familiar to her, a reflection of the killer inside her. Anyone else would have been scared of him but not her. The wild wolf in her recognised his own inner wild wolf— _her pack_.

"These offers were not just for young lords who were close to your age," Jon elaborated, growling in restrained anger. "These were also for ageing lords who were willing to divorce their wives just so they could have you. They were willing to empty their coffers for your maiden's blood. They longed to steal you away from me after I had just gotten you back."

"You didn't tell me this," Arya said, wondering how she had never heard of this when she had been in Winterfell. She had all the skills for surveillance and subterfuge, viciously learned from an elite guild over the Narrow Sea. She would have known about it. "You never said anything."

"It was a private council with just the Northern bannermen," he said, taking a deep breath as he tried to control the obvious rage he still felt. "After this was put on the table to be discussed, I made sure that no one would ever bring it up again. They never did."

Arya wondered what Jon had said or done to make sure that the lords would comply, but she did not press the issue. Instead, she nodded to him in acknowledgement. "Thank you for doing that for me, Jon."

The tempest of his ragged emotions stilled as their eyes met, and he seemed to melt immediately. His face softened. "It's my duty to protect you, my little wolf."

She felt herself grinning, heartened at just hearing his nickname for her. "Shall I call you my Dragon Wolf?"

Jon blinked in surprise before his lips cracked in a grin as well. "I don't hate it."

"Is that a yes?" she asked in a teasing voice. When he said nothing and only continued grinning at her, she continued, "Dragon King? Dragon Wolf King? King Crow?"

He chuckled at the last one, both of them reminded of Tormund. "Gods no, not that one."

"My White Wolf?" she continued with a laugh. "He of the broody looks and wicked tongue, whose tongue—"

He silenced her with a kiss, the laughter they shared swallowed inside their mouths. She could feel the deep flavour of morning sex on their tongues. It made her blood run hot as she remembered waking up in bed with his mouth on her slit, and as revenge, she rode him as wildly as she could until he came inside her, with her name cried out from his lips.

Presently, Arya reluctantly drew back from him with a sigh. Jon's dark eyes were full of laughter, his lips wet from the kiss.

"About this letter..." she said, trying to focus on the issue they faced. She immediately felt deep exhaustion in her whole body, as if she was carrying a heavy load on her back. Her head began to pound. "I don't really care either way. I'd be horrible at it if I had to be her heir. I've never been groomed for this - I was always the last in the line of succession, even after Baby Rickon. I'm sure she'll have her babe one day. She needs to learn to stand up to the Northern lords and ladies."

"Lord Eddard Stark was also not groomed to be the Lord of Winterfell," Jon said, his voice low as he stared solemnly at the letter once again. "And I too was not groomed to be the King in the North. Did that mean that we were horrible in our positions?"

"Of course not!" she cried immediately, feeling offended at just the idea of it. "You and father were the best leaders I've ever known. I could never compare to either of you."

Jon looked up finally from the letter and met her gaze with a small smile. "You should have been the Queen in the North after me, do you recall me saying this to you the night you arrived? In my cells at King's Landing, I had discussed the matter with Lord Lannister and the Northern bannermen I was permitted to speak to, about needing to adhere to Robb's will. Because Bran was going to be the King of the Six Kingdoms and your sister was already the acting Regent Lady of the Vale to her cousin Young Lord Robert Arryn and furthermore, she was Lady Lannister by marriage to Lord Tyrion, the North should have belonged to you, my little wolf. With Bran belonging to the South, you were the heir according to Robb's will because your sister Lady Lannister was disinherited many years ago. And also _you_ were the heir _I_ chose."

Arya’s heart skipped a beat and it took so much effort not to melt at his words. Jon was always so unfailingly kind to her. But there was nothing they could do about it now.

"It's too late for all of that now because my sister has been the Queen for three years. I don't want our family to fight and besides, I suppose I'm still the heir after all, even if it’s only temporary. Duty calls for me," she said with a tired shrug. The summons had brought forth this new complication just as she had been settling down in peace with Jon but she was still blessed that she didn't have to face this alone. She smiled gently at Jon then, feeling immensely grateful to have him in her life. "Thank you for thinking of me, for always doing the best you could for me, Jon. I am very fortunate to have you in my life."

Jon looked pained at her answer but nodded his head gravely. After taking a deep breath as if he tried to still his emotions, his eyes lit up with pride. "This is more than she deserves. Especially after thousands of innocent lives perished because of that broken vow. It's not right for her to keep her crown when it is rightfully yours, according to the will of _two_ Kings. But you are gracious in your quick forgiveness of her."

“It doesn't matter now,” Arya insisted wearily. “The only thing I'm worried about is having to go back to Winterfell for this summons. I don't really need to go there to be her temporary heir. She could just proclaim it and let it be so. I would come if she needs me for war. I told you I don't ever want to leave your side, Jon, and I meant it." she said to him earnestly.

He looked amused. "Did I not say that I will go with you if you have to ride south, _my sweet bride_?"

To suddenly hear him calling her _his bride_ caused her heart to flutter, her face heating up as she looked away and hid a smile.

"Oh you like that, don't you?" he teased. Darkly, in a low husky voice, he said, "It will be fun to show the lords that you are betrothed to me, that you are still untouchable to them for you are my bride."

Arya looked at him, his words stirring in her the calling of her wolf blood to his own. She longed for the day when they would be mated properly, to be a true wolf pack with their own pups. She smiled at him gently, trying her best to be positive about the situation they now faced. "Hopefully Bran with his greenseering had already anticipated this issue and he will offer us a solution to keep you safe, right?"

Wearily, he nodded. “Let us hope so, little wolf.”

It was with great reluctance that Arya opened Bran's letter next:

_Jon Snow,_

_By the time you receive this letter, my sister Arya will have already gone to see you in your home. I hope that you both find the happiness that you deserve. However, there are a few more things to settle, and most of these can only be done in person._

_From this day forward, you are hereby given a temporary release from your exile, until the time when you arrive at the Red Keep in Kings Landing so that the Council of the Six Kingdoms could reconvene and give a seal of permanence to the end of your exile which you had never deserved in the first place. You are summoned to attend this council so as to await the verdict._

_Enough time has passed for our violent visitors to have gone to the distant island of Naath, and the discontent from the rest of the nobility have died down._

_In the capital, the injustice done to you is frequently whispered with disfavour. You are constantly proclaimed a hero for ending the Dragon Queen's fiery massacre of the city. A recompense will be granted to you as soon as you come to my court._

_I long to see you both again, and I hope you both find peace with my sister Sansa as you visit her in Winterfell. May the Old Gods bless you both._

_Bran Stark_  
_King of the Six Kingdoms_

  
Silence fell as it was difficult to process the words written in Bran’s neat script. To think that her little brother Bran could have this much power to start the reversal of Jon’s exile... But why did he not do this in the first place? Why wait three whole years?

She felt stunned at Bran's letter and next to her, Jon's eyes were narrowed, looking confused as he kept rereading the text. Although the news was supposed to be a good one, Arya didn’t know if she could trust it completely. Can someone be released from exile? Was it that easy? Or were they both being played by their siblings, the Southron games trying to lure them out so that they could be hurt again?

A fierce protectiveness rushed through her and it made her grit her teeth. If anyone would dare to hurt Jon, she would use all the deadly tools at her disposal. She had meant it when she said that she will always be his sworn shield. This is a vow that will never be broken.

Beside her, Jon was shaking his head in skepticism. "It cannot be this easy. What about the Night's Watch? I am beyond the realms of his reach now. I was willing to go to Winterfell with you so that you could be proclaimed the Heir of the North because we could easily go back home afterwards. And the North is still our childhood home so I don't expect as much danger lurking for us there. But the South has never been kind to the Starks. It is a bad idea for us to go to his court even if he is our brother. And now I am weary from just reading this."

Arya watched his face crumple, the anguish naked on his face. She leaned close to him and rested her temple against his shoulder, her slim arm wrapping around his solid waist. "We don't have to go," she reassured him in a gentle voice. "Not to Kings Landing and not even to Winterfell. We can just remain here. They don't have the power to summon us - this place is beyond their reach. We are free - we are part of the Free Folk now."

Jon sighed, the movement making his warm torso shift inside the circle of her arm. He turned to face her with gratitude, reaching down to brush a calloused thumb against her cheek. "I'm very fortunate to have you, Arya. But I'm afraid we must go South. This is the answer that I have been praying for truly."

"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.

"Don't you see?" he asked, tilting his head to the side as he continued to caress her face, to run his whole hand down the curve of her jaw and causing her to shiver at his touch. "If I am released from my exile - _if this is for true_  - I can finally reveal myself to be Lord Aegon Targaryen, free to marry my Princess Arya of House Stark. I intend to marry you as soon as possible when that happens, in front of the heart tree in the godswood back in Winterfell, before the Old Gods. And after that, I will have my way with you and ravish you so thoroughly so that I can put a babe in your womb."

Arya felt herself blushing at his declaration, her face feeling very warm. His daring words made her smile from ear to ear, eager for his dream to become true as she imagined being in Winterfell with him, marrying him in front of the weirwood then becoming round with his babe soon afterwards. She longed to give him as many pups as she could - to have their children grow up like her and Jon, surrounded by so many siblings. "I long for this to become true."

His eyes softened as he smiled back at her. "So you see, we do need to ride South, my love."

The joy she felt simmered down as the reality of it set in. "So if we do have to go, when will we go? Do we wait a few moons?"

"We can let them wait all we want. We can take all the time in the world. We are afforded the luxury of time," he said with a careless shrug. "Besides, did you forget about Ghost and Nymeria?"

"Ah, yes," she said, clearing her throat. Last night, she had felt it and so had Jon - she had felt the quickening in Nymeria and Jon had smelled it with Ghost's nose. When morning came, they had spoken to each other about it with excitement. "There will be pups soon. And I don't intend to let you leave Ghost again - it isn't wise for you to be apart from him for very long," she muttered, thinking of Robb who had died far away from Greywind, and so had been at a disadvantage. "And Ghost will surely not leave Nymeria in her state. So it will be around two moons before she will birth her pups and another moon or so before the pups are fit for travel."

"Aye," he said, eyes lit up in laughter as he mumbled, "I never thought the old boy would beat me to it."

"What are you muttering about?" Arya said in amusement.

"I wanted pups with you long before Ghost did with Nymeria and now he’ll be a father before me," he confessed. "I have half a mind to get rid of your Moon Tea herbs. If we arrived at Winterfell with you heavy with our child, we could marry straight away if we wanted to. Your sister was already trying to tell everyone about my identity during the war. She'll have to explain to the Northern lords why her bastard brother had bedded and gotten her little sister pregnant. And then they'll have no choice in the matter." he said with a dark chuckle.

She couldn't help but grin. "Is that the madness talking, my dear _Lord Targaryen_?"

His eyes widened at her words, but he looked like he was on the verge of laughing. "What did you just call me?"

"Lord Targaryen?" she said in a teasing voice. "Or should I start calling you _Aegon_ so you can start getting used to it?"

He groaned, shaking his head vehemently as if he was in pain. "I hate the name. It sounds horrible - Egg On? My father already had another son called Aegon too. What were my parents thinking? I can't believe my mother would agree to the name!"

Arya laughed, so amused at his discomfiture. "I didn't know you hated the name so much!"

"Please just keep calling me Jon no matter what. And I hope you have better names for all the pups we will soon have! Not just the pups - I meant also the children you will bear for me!"

"I don't have to come up with all the names! You will have to help me too!"

"I named my direwolf Ghost and you named yours Nymeria. I think you will be better at doing the naming," he said with a grin.

"You are not getting out of it, dragon wolf," she said, grinning back. "Anyway, I think we had better come up with a plan. At the earliest, we are approximately three moons away from our departure but I think we should still have precautions in place."

"What do you mean?"

"I am going to contact my crew and have my ship _The Night Wolf_ \- well, _our ship_ now really for what is mine is yours - moved to White Harbour, to be made ready for our journey to Kings Landing many moons from now. This'll be good - my crew is scattered all over Westeros so they will be picked up from across all the harbours along the coastal line as the ship circles around the continent. We will be meeting a few members of the crew at Castle Black so that we can travel with protection. I do not intend to march with you without trusted guards. You are my king and so I must protect you."

"Arya," he said, voice catching at her declaration for him. "No, you are to be the Crown Princess, the future Queen in the North. When you arrive in Winterfell, it will be with a banner of House Stark flapping in the wind, and an army of loyal followers marching with you. I'm sure a few young men and women from this village are longing for adventure and some, I bet, even miss what they consider to be the South. They'll surely march with us as well."

"Won't it look like a declaration of war if Sansa sees us arriving with armed men and women?" Arya asked. Second guessing herself, she felt a little bit anxious at the thought of traveling that way, as if _she_ was important instead of Jon who used to be the King in the North and was truthfully the heir of the Iron Throne. Compared to him or any of their remaining siblings who were both reigning monarchs, Arya Stark had never been important in her life.

"Not at all," Jon said. "And anyway, if she is serious in pursuing you as her heir, she will make sure to give you the honour you deserve. A welcoming party will surely ride towards Castle Black, possibly meeting you halfway from Winterfell so that our party could be escorted properly."

She thought it was too grand and could hardly believe it. A memory came to her: the day when she returned to Winterfell for the first time flashed through her mind. "This will be so much better than my first return to Winterfell."

Jon raised a brow in curiosity. "What did happen back then? I was away from Winterfell that time and I've never heard the tale."

So she told him the tale about her arrival at the gates after many weeks of hard riding through the Riverlands then the frozen North, and about the two idiotic guards who wouldn't let her in so easily, as if she no longer belonged there. Even without any family to welcome her as she stood shivering like an unwanted stranger in the middle of the courtyard, it had still taken her breath away to be surrounded by Winterfell's grey granite walls and to see it covered with the direwolf emblem of the Stark banner.

Later on, Sansa had found her in the crypts as she was visiting their father's statue, and she was reunited with Bran in the godswood afterwards. The only person who had been missing that day was the one she longed for the most - _Jon_.

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to be with you when you returned," he said, looking sad. "I wish I had been there. I would have been at the gate, picking you up and twirling you around in happiness, kissing you all over your face."

Arya reached for his hand to comfort him, squeezing his larger one with her own. She wished it was so but there was nothing they could do about it. She was hopeful for this second chance they had though, the chance to visit Winterfell together. She smiled at him. "It will be better this time. We will march inside Winterfell together, side by side."

His grey eyes lit up and he smiled too, both of them heartened at the dream - at a homecoming they were going to share together side by side. How sweet it would be to ride their horses inside Winterfell's castle walls again with their direwolves, to be back in their childhood home where they will marry each other one day. She looked forward to it with all her heart and she knew with a certainty that he did too.

***

With their decision to journey south of the Wall, the preparations came not too long after. Even though they had plenty of time, they made sure to begin the coordination for the logistics of their traveling party.

Because there was no rookery close by, Arya decided to take matters in her own hands. From the solar of the cabin as they sat cross-legged at the furs in front of the hearth's fire, Jon watched her closely as she skinchanged into a crow that was carrying a letter to Castle Black. Tied around its leg were two scrolls, the first one being the instructions for Satin and the second meant to be for her ship's crew.

The letter should be sent to Pyke with a raven where _The Night Wolf_ was now docked - the letter contained instructions to convene all the crew from all over the continent. The ship should depart as soon as possible, circling around the continent and landing at White Harbour. A handful of the crew must ride to Castle Black in three moons at the earliest, to accompany Arya and Jon to Winterfell.

She made sure not to mention Jon in her correspondence, mindful that Asha Greyjoy may intercept the message. Although they had slowly become friends after the war, Asha had been fiercely devoted to the Dragon Queen even in death. There will be issues between them if she saw Jon again. She and Asha will have to cross that bridge one day. If the Ironborn Lady were to threaten Jon, Arya would have to be ready to be his shield again.

Arya had remained still for what felt like hours as, with her mind, she guided the crow to Castle Black. The rush of the biting winds helped her soar far above in the wide cerulean skies, making her stomach queasy. She could feel the ruffle in her feathers and beneath it the steady beating of her crow’s heart as she flew over white-capped mountains, snow valleys, and wide fields of every colour from green to yellow to vibrant purples.

After leagues of flying over the wild but beautiful landscape of the True North, she found the great melting Wall of ice that spanned all the land from east to west, blue and glittering in the sun. Soon enough, the cold stone walls of Castle Black came into view, the only structure for leagues. As she descended from her flight with a quick plummeting rush in her belly, she soon found a slender form walking within the castle’s courtyard, a handsome man with black hair, beard, and cloak.

The crow landed on Satin's shoulder, its talons digging into his furs and the bone and muscle underneath, and causing the man's black eyes to widen in surprise. But soon, Satin's sharp gaze found the scroll and he immediately held the bird gently to retrieve the letters. And as soon as he did, Arya let go of her hold on the crow, opening her eyes with a gasp.

In front of her, Jon was looking at her with his brows drawn tight in worry. But Arya only smiled tiredly and reassuringly, telling him that the deed was done.

She vowed to him afterwards that she would try to help him hone his own warging and skinchanging abilities. Jon had all these abilities too but she's just had more practice than him. She told him her story:

_When Arya was a child, she had always dreamt of Nymeria even from a different continent and was even able to use the eyes of cats after she’d been blinded by the Kindly Man. After Arya had come back to Winterfell with Nymeria and her great pack of wolves, her powers grew even more as she'd been forced to utilise her warging abilities during the war against the Others - to guide the wolf pack into battle against the wights. Across the Sunset Sea, later on, she had skinchanged into birds instead, scouting the waters ahead so as to guide the ship in their journey towards the West._

And so, from that day on, Jon eagerly learned to hone his skills with her, and they spent many days skinchanging into village cats that they would bring back home with them, racing each other with small padded paws through the brush and bramble of the mountain path towards the village until they could hear the wild laughter and shouts of the children playing in the square.

Later on, Jon became adept enough to be able to compete with her in getting the cats to race _towards_ their cabin from the village. They would laugh together even during their moments of concentration, thrilled at the sensation of being nimble and quick. And when the cats came bounding towards their cabin, pawing at the front door with demanding meows, Jon and Arya would sweep them up and bring them inside, giving them some dried fish, fresh water, and brushing their fur lovingly as thanks.

***

In those early days just after they had reunited, Arya and Jon had been inseparable, always together wherever they went. During the morning, they often just stayed at their cabin, doing household chores, feeding and grooming the horses, and tending to their garden. Arya began to plant even more flowers, taking care to read all the instructions that came with all the seeds that had been sent by Samwell Tarly long ago.

The afternoons were reserved for long walks up the mountains, sometimes to picnic at a flower field, or to go down to the cold sandy beach and watch the fishermen sailing back to shore. Some evenings, they were both invited to have supper in different houses, where Arya would get to know the villagers on a more personal level. Every man, woman, and child always had a different story, and she soon grew to love them all. With their permission, she would write down their tales in a leather-bound book, so that their village history will never be forgotten.

Sometimes, with their direwolves, they would ride down the mountain and race each other through valleys full of green and golden farmland, fields of wildflowers, and rough plains full of running wild horses. A few times, as they rode, they would discover new places that would delight them such as hot springs, caverns full of ancient drawings of the First Men and the Children of the Forest, and even crumbling ruins of what could’ve been ancient holdfasts. The greatest discovery had been deep in the woods where a thicket of sentinel trees had circled around a massive white tree with red leaves. A haunted face had been carved into its trunk and its eyes bled a red sap as it stared at them knowingly.

Jon and Arya had fallen to their knees in joy at their discovery of finding that the Old Gods were not too far from the village. For Arya especially, there hadn’t been any godswood for her to worship in for the past three years. And so they held vigil there for hours, praying to the Old Gods for strength for what was about to come: an uncertain future that called out to them from beyond the Wall. They also prayed for the loved ones they’ve lost and the friends and kin that still remained.

As the days passed, Arya and Jon fell into routine as they worked with the villagers on their various trades so as to gain enough silver for the village as well as their own upcoming journey. She would often help out with the running of the household - with numbers and sums that would benefit with the maintenance of the village. With Jon, she would sit down with the elders as well as with Tormund who was the chieftain, and his children Toregg the Tall and Munda, whenever they ran into more complicated issues that involved the sustainment of the village coin.

On the days when they would help out in a full day of hunting or fishing with the villagers, they would always come back home and wash each other in a tub full of hot water with fragrant oil, laughing and kissing playfully as they lathered each other's hair and bodies, teasing each other. That was one of the things they enjoyed the most, the washing, cleaning, and grooming.

Arya especially loved it when Jon brushed her long hair so as to get rid of the tangles and Jon would sigh in relaxation every time she brushed his own unruly curls. Jon loved it when she would lather his face then shave his beard off with her steady hands and in turn, he watched her own grooming routine when she would do her own womanly maintenance in keeping up her appearance.

Training as a mermaid in Braavos had taught her to become a woman as she had greatly admired the beautiful courtesans of the great city. Arya could be dirty and unruly during the day but at night, she knew how to become clean and orderly like a proper woman. She made sure to wash and brush her hair, and keep her nails clean and short. With the use of her knowledge of tonics and herbs, she was able to have a clear complexion, and an alluringly smooth skin in all the parts of her body. She always knew how to smell fragrant, knew the meaning of each type of scent.

Jon would always hide a private smile, and she would too. She was nearly a woman grown and had learned to have pride in her appearance, to be a true maiden who could match her handsome lover. Jon never failed to call her beautiful every day and her confidence slowly grew until she believed it herself.

As night fell and one of them made supper, the other usually provided entertainment as they read aloud from the many books that Bran had sent over the years. The history of the Winter Kings was always a good read, but they both still loved the tales about their childhood Targaryen heroes like Daeron the Young Dragon and the Warrior-Queen Visenya who had been Aegon the Conqueror's sister-wife.

Often, after they were full with their meal and were lounging on the furs in front of the hearth of the solar, they would sit together and just read quietly. Jon would sometimes hum a tune and when she heard him, Arya would always smile and demand a song. Jon would indulge her of course - he always did, even when they were children. His voice was low and melodious as he sang the Northern songs from their childhood. Arya would close her eyes in happiness as she rested her head on Jon's lap, wishing that his songs would never end.

A few times, they spoke about the tales they'd heard about Jon's father Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. He had been known to be a great singer, and Arya wondered if her Aunt Lyanna had loved his voice as well.

From time to time, Arya would teach Jon the languages that she had learned from across the Narrow Sea but they focused mostly on High Valyrian, although he was keen to at least learn how to understand some Braavosi phrases and words. Jon took these lessons seriously, eager to learn.

In response, Jon brought her out to the wild mountains, teaching her all the names of the flowers that she loved. She began to keep a journal, bringing it with her whenever they went out as she pressed flowers between its pages, sketched their likeness, and jotted down their names. She hoped that she could find uses for them one day - maybe some of them could be brewed to become a cure for a malady. Perhaps that would be a trade she could do one day - to let her knowledge of poisons and potions instead be a thing to help people as she used her skills to do good things instead. She would like to be a healer maybe instead of the murderer they trained her to be when she was child.

In the wild, they met so many kinds of animals. Sometimes, it was one of the wild wolves who belonged to Ghost and Nymeria's pack. But often, it was the smaller creatures like foxes, raccoons, and squirrels. As they often brought bows with them, they would make it a game where whoever caught dinner didn't have to cook it. Their frequent prey were waterfowl, quails, and hares but Jon had shot a deer once straight through the eye, making him grin from ear to ear in his pride.

Thankfully, despite winning that game, Jon still helped her skin it, clean it, and cook it. The excess meat had been shared with the villagers, while Jon hung the skin to dry, to sell at a market later on.

Arya became friends with most of the wildlings as she followed Jon around the village, learning about his duties. The old baker with the grumbling wife seemed to like her a lot and would often give her wild berry tarts. Spearwives seemed to take a shining to her, wanting to test their skills against her while sparring and sometimes just pulling her into a kitchen to teach her how to cook wildling dishes. Other times, they would all just sit together in the center of the village square and talk about everything under the sun as they ate sweet biscuits and drank blueberry tea.

Soon, she too was teaching the children how to read, write, and do sums. But she would be soft-hearted enough to let them draw sometimes instead of learning to write their letters. There were times when she would forget the lessons altogether and bring them outside to play and they would always try to best her in their childhood games, but she would not let them win too easily.

Whenever she and Jon would go to the village farm to purchase fresh milk and eggs, Arya would always carry the farmer’s youngest daughter. The babe was only a few moons old and was always squalling but in her arms, it shushed, began to coo, and would sometimes even babble and laugh. She would then hand the babe over to Jon and he would panic at first but soon enough, fondness and longing would shine brightly in his eyes as he held the babe.

After that, her arms and Jon’s were always laden with a little babe whenever there was one nearby. She had always loved children and babies even when she was a child herself and now Jon was quickly becoming an expert himself too as he babbled back to them, sung them Northern lullabies, or rocked them to sleep.

Arya became closer to Tormund's daughter Munda, the brave spearwife with the golden singing voice. From her, she learned the local customs of the Free Folk - the little mannerisms that one had to pay attention to so as not to offend. They spoke of the brothers Munda had lost and in turn, Arya spoke of her own beloved brothers: her valiant big brother Robb and sweet little baby Rickon - both so young and so beautiful, and dead before their time.

Sometimes, Munda spoke to her of marriage, as if she was hinting that Arya should start thinking about it too for she was now of age. In marriage, Munda told her, the men were expected to be quite forceful with women, going so far as stealing them from their home or clan. The women, in turn, were expected to put up a fight every step of the way. Men must steal daughters, but not wives of other men. When the _Thief_  is within the _Moonmaid_ , it was considered the best time for a man to steal a woman. Women who wed brothers, fathers, or clan kin were believed to offend the gods, and were cursed with weak and sickly children.

When she went home that night, Arya had asked Jon about the Thief and the Moonmaid but he had only looked at her blankly, not answering her question. So she went to her friend Dryn the next day and the younger boy had told her about the constellations in the sky that denoted the times of the year when wildling marriages were often taking place. Dryn had smirked afterwards, asking if she was eyeing a man or if there was a man who she wished to steal her away.

In indignation, Arya had immediately challenged him to a duel which she had barely won in the end. Dryn had been short and stout when he had been Jon's page in Winterfell but he had been a warrior like her, both of them fighting in many wars and skirmishes despite their youth. The years had strengthened him as he often went on hunts and raids with his brothers. He was now two heads taller than her, and twice as strong. He teased her, telling her that she should be careful because men from the village liked the look of her and if she wasn't careful, even he would try to steal her too. Arya had clouted his ear soundly and threatened to tell his father and he had been red-faced as he insisted that he had only been japing with her.

Arya learned about the other villagers like Rickard Snow, the Northern man whose mother used to serve Ser Rodrick Cassel. Rickard had a lot of story to tell and as they compared tales from their childhood, they often drew similarities, knowing similar people and remembering events like King Robert Baratheon's arrival or the harvest feasts and summer snows. They both had fond words when they spoke about Jory Cassel who had been a good friend to everyone and had died so unjustly in the streets of Kings Landing.

The young man was gracious and told her the tale of how he and a few other Northerners had followed Jon up north because they all craved a new life away from Winterfell, which now held too many haunted memories from the war.

There were five Northerners in the village aside from Arya and Jon: Rickard, his grumpy older sister Donella, and three battle-hardened warriors who just wanted a piece of land to call their own. Arya soon met his sister Donella and as Rickard had said, the young homely woman was often moody, often complaining about village life as she dreamt of returning to Winter Town. She had been a handmaid before like her mother but had followed her brother North of the Wall in hopes of a better life. She found out soon enough after arriving in the village that she was probably not suited to a life in the wilderness of the mountains.

But despite her grumbling nature, Arya found a friend in Donella, who was close to Jon's age - only six years older. The Northern woman treated her like a little sister, and was quite happy to find someone who could speak to her about Winter Town and other Northern things that made her homesick. Whenever Arya visited her, Donella would braid her hair in an elaborate Northern style, or help mend her old tattered clothes, especially after Arya revealed how horrible her stitches were. Whenever Jon saw her in her braids after she came home, he would always tease her and make her blush, as he called her his 'pretty Northern girl' before kissing her and taking her breath away.

Another person that was of interest to her had been Styr who was originally from the Thenn tribe who usually dwelled further up north in the valleys. She recognised him from the village feast, the tall handsome man who had long braided black hair and a bearded face. He and Satin had been together for most of the feast, sitting close together. She suspected that they were more than friends, their intimacy a dead give away. She studied him from time to time as he went about his business. He was a quiet man, prone to go on hunts all alone deep in the mountains. But he was respectful of the elders, had friendly words with other villagers sometimes, and was always kind to the children as he often brought back sweet red apples and wild berries for them. He had even shared a few words with Arya as they spoke about the best places in the mountains to find wild game. He had even taught her how to make a snare once. She could see why Satin would like him for he was gentle with his words and demeanor despite his great stature.

The older folks sometimes gave her a fright as some of them would look at her with narrow eyes, making hand gestures that seemed to want her to leave as they cursed at her in the Old Tongue. She wondered if they thought she was some sort of evil omen because of her connection to the Night King.

Not all of the older men and women were unkind however. There was a sweet old woman who everyone knew as Old Wylla who sometimes gestured for her to come over. Arya would be invited in the little hut she shared with all her grandchildren, and she would speak to her in the Old Tongue as they shared warm broth together. One of the older children would usually be called in to translate and they shared stories about the war in Winterfell, her encounters with other skinchangers, and tales about her wildling childhood when she had been growing up in Hardhome.

Arya told her about her own childhood in Winterfell which delighted her, and she sought out more stories from her about what life was like as a lord's daughter. Arya had felt a rush of love for her then as she almost saw the old woman as a maternal figure. So she told her about her complicated childhood, with all the difficult expectations from her lady mother and her inability to live up to them. The old woman had smiled at her gently and said that perhaps her mother would have been proud of her if she was still alive. Arya had only smiled sadly as she nodded, wishing she could believe it too. There will always be doubt in Arya’s heart for she had been the one to kill her mother in the end. Her hands will always be stained with her mother's blood, even if Lady Catelyn had terrorised the Riverlands as the cruel  _Lady Stoneheart_.

Often, Jon would join her in her walks around the village but sometimes it was just her and Nymeria. If he had to join the other men of the village in a days-long hunt deep in the mountains or in the snow valleys to the north, he would give Arya a long kiss and a hard, rough bedding that she would feel for days. When she was on her own in his bed, she would miss him so dearly as she buried her nose on his pillow to inhale his warm masculine scent. She would grow wet with want for him and would touch herself in her longing. But her fingers were never ever enough. She knew that when they reunited after the hunt, the absence only made their bedding sweeter.

Jon's return was always met with intense passion as she always wanted him straight away, even if he was still dirty from being afield for days. One time, they had found themselves in the stables just after his return and he'd bent her over right then and there. With her sleeping tunic pushed up her back and tucked under her arms, he’d fucked her roughly from behind, both of their bodies so hungry for each other. She found that she craved him like that, when he was wild, fierce and rough, smelling like the bloody hunt, just like a direwolf.

Arya and Jon often sparred but it was plain that he had an advantage with his bigger sword and greater strength. But since she was swift and stealthy and could escape his attacks so often, it was more of a dance, with a lot of dodges, parries, and feints. Her skills had been honed for many years now with all her teachers and though he would always win against her if it was a straight duel, her skills were enough to match him if she utilised subterfuge and speed. Her chances increased if they fought in darkness because she had been trained to fight blind, or if she ran from him during their duel, baiting him to chase her so she could hide from him and surprise him with sudden attacks. The few times when Jon had actually caught her during a chase, they had both laughed so hard because of the rarity of it.

Jon often commented that perhaps Arya had finally outgrown Needle since she had even grown a little taller in the moon after her return. It was true that Needle seemed to be just a little toy now that she was a child-woman, since it had been Jon's gift for her at the age of nine. But Arya could never hope to replace Needle since it meant the world to her.

Sometimes, they would fight with sticks and when Arya first brought out the dragonglass staff that could be separated into two pieces, Jon then told her that perhaps what she needed were two small swords, one to parry and another to attack. Maybe it would be interesting to fight in that style one day.

Nymeria was soon growing round with her pups and it made both Jon and Arya as excited as Ghost. The direwolves often visited their cabin to take a nap at the solar or would follow them whenever they went to the village or other places, but they chose to stay in their own den not too far away. They were preparing to nest, ready for the coming of the pups. Arya was happy for her direwolf but at the same time, there was a pang in her stomach too as it also meant that time was drawing nearer for their departure from their home. Soon, they would have to ride South to answer the summons. She vowed to make every moment count.

Every moment that was not dedicated to their duties, she and Jon spent together. There was no place in the house where they had not fucked and sometimes, they were insane enough to rut outside. As long as they were sure that there was no audience hiding close by, they found themselves fucking in the stables, the forests, the mountains.

Once, when Jon brought her to a hot spring that was hidden in the midst of a thicket of old oak and maple trees, she had immediately disrobed and dived in. When she emerged, Jon had watched her with dark eyes burning with lust as he stood rigid on the shore as she walked towards him from the water, a teasing grin on her lips.

When she was in front of him, bare and unashamed as she looked up at his greedy eyes, Jon spun her around immediately with a bruising grip and bent her over as he hastily pulled his cock out from his breeches. At that, her cunt became immediately overheated and slick. It felt so good when he'd pressed inside and made her feel so full as she stretched to accommodate his girth. The length of his cock was so hot and so deep inside her, in contrast to the cold air of their surroundings which made her shiver. Feeling his rough leathers, fur cloak, and the rest of his clothing against her naked skin warmed her entire body and caused her cunt to gush even more slick as they moaned together, their breaths fogging up in the cool air.

Arya felt like a true she-wolf out there in the wild as Jon gripped her hips hard and started to move inside her with a brutal pace, taking her apart with how intensely he wanted her. They seemed to always be in a state of perpetual arousal around each other and were wild and free together in the wilderness, just like the wolves they truly were. There was something so thrilling about being naked outdoors, her whole body wet from the hot springs while her hands and knees were muddy as Jon mounted her so roughly and deliciously from behind that her voice became hoarse from screaming his name.

Afterwards, Jon pulled off his own clothes and took her hand as they both entered the hot spring. Sated, they clung to each other, their naked bodies surrounded by the warm steaming water. There was a stillness as they were all alone together for leagues, with only wild nature to witness their love...

They had so many other quiet moments too. Jon had built a wooden bench and put it behind the cabin where it faced the West. With furs wrapped tightly around their bodies, they would often drink hot blueberry tea or mulled wine with wild berries and spices, steam rising from their mugs. Happily, they held on tightly to each other as they shared their warmth. They watched as the sun was setting on the endless sea with peace in their hearts and smiles on their faces. The sky was always so full of colour - orange, pink, and vivid purple.

Arya longed for these days to never end.

***

Nearly everyday, during all their days of waiting, they would sit in bed before sleeping and reread the summons from their siblings. They had constant misgivings as they discussed hidden meanings behind the plain words. But their minds had been made up a long time ago. They will just have to be prepared to face whatever comes their way.

***

After she and Jon helped out with a large haul of a fishing expedition that garnered the village an assortment of seafood, among which were salmon, shrimp, scallops, crab, and whitefish varieties, Arya assisted the merchants with numbers as well as quality control, choosing only the best ones and throwing the smaller ones back to the sea, so as to get the best profit. She gave them all the best tips and tricks of conducting sales, owing from her own time as a little peddler of shellfish back in Braavos. Packing the seafood in snow and ice, Arya, Jon and their direwolves rode out with the merchant party to the nearest market town, hoping for a good profit to help them in their upcoming journey.

The villagers also sold their other wares: animal furs and skins, forest game made into smoked sausages, barrels of wildling cider and jugs of soured goat’s milk, mountain berry juice, rough-spun rope, dolls sewn with old rags, and wooden goods like household wares, child-sized tourney swords, and little carvings of animals.

The seafood proved to be a good sell and soon, the merchant party were splitting the profit equally among all the families. Arya and Jon got their own cut as well and as they sat together with the villagers in front of a campfire after a mid-day meal, they grinned at each other. This was the first time that they had ever made an honest living together. If they never had to ride south again, they could live this way, as merchants who lived off the lands and seas.

Looking at the simple joy that lit Jon's eyes, something inside her melted. Did they truly need to go south and complicate what they already had? They could be free and happy here, far away from duty and courtly games.

But then, whenever she and Jon would embrace or kiss each other in innocent ways - just the forehead or the cheek - a villager would make a comment, as if what they felt for each other was too obvious, and not at all fraternal as they would like to present it. Warily, they tried to be as careful as they could but in the end, it felt too stifling and made them feel like outsiders. It made her sad to not be accepted, to not be able to scream to the world how much she and Jon loved each other, but it was for the best. They would have to go south if they were to find normalcy, even if it would be a difficult journey with a lot of uncertainty.

After a night in the outskirts of the market town, the rest of the villagers started their journey back. They brought with them supplies for the village: rolls and rolls of cloth in different colours, spools of threads, a bag of flint, sacks of flour, casks of wine and mead, wooden boxes full of onions, garlic and tomatoes as well as fruits from the South, bottles of oils and spices, and even a whole container full of paper and ink. On the back of their wagon, cages of ravens were cawing amongst their purchases. The birds are to be used for the sending and receiving of letters, to be trained to fly to other towns. The party will be slow-going in their return home, laden and heavy as they were with their wares. Beside the full cart that was pulled by donkeys, fierce riders guarded the goods menacingly atop their horses.

Arya and Jon, along with Ghost and Nymeria, rode further west, towards the Fist of the First Men where there was an even bigger market. She and Satin had passed it before from a distance during their journey to the village, seen the massive rock that was shaped like a fist. But she had not seen it so lively and colourful as she and Jon arrived at its base on a market day. As they approached, the cooking fires smelled lovely as merchants were roasting mutton and chickens, as well as potatoes and carrots. Further in, the many rows of colourful tents had wares of all kinds, and loud haggling voices shouted over each other in each stall.

It reminded her a little of Braavos as it was full of a variety of people, with their different clothing and local dialects in addition to the Old Tongue and the Common Tongue. Clansmen and women from all over the land converged here for many different reasons other than to trade, some to look for work, some to be entertained by traveling mummers, and some hoping to steal a spearwife.

"Stay close to me," Jon warned, putting an arm around her shoulders as they wandered around the many market stalls, looking for supplies.

Arya already knew why. She knew exactly what marriage entailed North of the Wall, the forceful stealing of brides from other clans. She wasn't afraid and could take care of herself, but was still heartened at Jon's concern. It caused her to sharpen her senses though, noting the stares she was getting from the men around her.

But whatever they thought of her was suppressed as they looked on in fear at the giant direwolves flanking them.

They bought new clothing and boots for her because the old ones she wore were getting shabby and worn-out. Jon was especially picky, making sure that the tunics, riding leathers, and leather jerkin fit her well and were made of fine material. He haggled like a local and spoke the Old Tongue, causing her to smile.

She had been teaching High Valyrian to him in their spare time and he had only just recently begun to teach her the Old Tongue. Jon had been reluctant at first as he said he wasn’t as good as the native speakers, but he soon grew confident. Together, they practiced with the villagers who were only too eager to help them out.

Arya made sure that they got new things for Jon too, like new woollen socks and smallclothes to replace his older ones. At her urging, they also bought a fine crimson tunic and black leather vambraces that was embossed with dragons - Targaryen colours. Jon was reluctant in purchasing these but she was able to encourage him easily enough after whispering a dark promise in his ear. Near the end of the line of tents, Jon pulled her to a stall that was surrounded with women. Her stomach almost plummeted when she saw what was being sold.

It was a stall full of dresses - not at all practical for spearwives but gaining popularity even north of the Wall because most of the inhabitants had lived in the south for a time. The merchant was a smiling old woman who looked Northern, offering discounts to anyone who bought more than one gown.

When they stopped in front of it, her face must have been full of dread for Jon nudged her gently with a smile. "I'm not saying you have to get one. But you may need one soon. I'm guessing your sister will expect you to dress in a gown if she has been getting Winterfell to adopt her Southern practices of dances and feasts. Probably more lavish than the Northern ones we're used to."

She sighed. "I don't hate dresses. I'm just not used to wearing one now after all this time. I wore dresses when meeting foreign leaders across the Sunset Sea, during feasts when I minded my courtesies. I used to wear one all the time in Braavos when I..." she trailed off. She avoided his eyes. "Anyway, it's no harm to look. Maybe Sansa won't think I'm completely hopeless and make a fool of myself if I come prepared."

Jon snorted, clearly not pleased with her words, but said nothing. While all of Winterfell fawned at her perfect sister even when they were children, Jon had always been her number one supporter, the only one besides their father. She was fortunate that that’s not changed. Even if she wore a dress that was muddy and torn, he would still smile at her and like her all the same.

The merchant woman honed in on them immediately, keenly aware of their Northern looks. She ushered them inside her tent and let a younger assistant take over the sales in front; Ghost and Nymeria sat on their haunches outside, guarding them.

The merchant’s smile was broad as she peered closely at their faces. "Welcome, my Northern friends! For you, I will give an even bigger discount! And my, my, what a pretty girl you are. It's like I've seen you before, a long time ago. But that is not possible for you are so young. It must be in your blood. What is your name, sweetling?"

She and Jon shared an amused look. She shrugged, not seeing the point in hiding her name. "My name is Arya."

"Ah! There is a famous girl too named Arya. There are many songs about her for she and her brother saved Westeros from the Others. Have you heard any of her songs? You probably have. But for sharing her name, I will give you an even bigger discount!"

She heard a low chuckle beside her and she could barely hold back the urge to punch him on the shoulder. At hearing this, the old woman turned to Jon with curiosity. "And this must be your husband. You are a very lucky man to have such a beautiful girl for a bride. I assume you're newly married. These old eyes can see these things!"

Jon looked like he was on the verge of laughter but he nodded his head at the woman, playing along. "Yes, sadly the wildlings think so little of me because I didn't steal my bride the way their custom demands, forcefully. I married her in front of a weirwood. We thought we would be able to make a life here but sadly, the North is where we belong. We need to get my wife gowns again because we will be moving back south soon."

The old merchant was almost in tears at his tale. She lowered her voice as she spoke to him in a conspiratorial way, "They do have barbaric practices here, dear lad. It is wise for you to go back home. You don't want to chance having your little bride stolen from you by one of the savages. A pretty thing like her will have many eyes trained on her. Keep her close."

Jon nodded to her solemnly, with a grateful smile while Arya resisted the urge to roll her eyes. But the old woman was kind to them, helping her find suitable gowns. Soon, she was shown the finest ones they had. And, at finding out that they were going to Winter Town, she found a grey dress with a little wolf stitched on its collar. Jon insisted on getting her this and they both complemented the merchant in her wares. She gave them a considerable discount and even sent for one of her assistants to fetch soft leather slippers that matched one of the gowns.

When they were finished with the purchase, Arya gained a new wardrobe consisting of a simple billowy ivory court dress that looked Braavosi in style, a daily-wear grey Northern dress, a white linen night gown, stockings, shifts and even scandalous small silken smallclothes that made Jon look at her with a look that made her weak, as unrestrained lust burned in his eyes.

"I think that is quite enough for today," Arya said, as they left the old woman's tent, their arms laden with everything they've bought today. "I long for home! I'm tired!"

"I think you're right," Jon said, giving her a fond smile. "Although I must say, when we get home, I want to see you in your new silk underthings."

"Shh!" Arya said, eyes wide as she turned to him with a stern look. "Your voice!"

Jon chuckled but said nothing else as they both noticed people looking at them, obviously having heard what he had said. If any of the wildling men had any vile intentions towards her, they kept this to themselves because Ghost and Nymeria were there with them, loyally guarding them.

They went to the paddock where they left their horses, secured their purchases then rode off towards the west, towards home.

***

When they stopped to make camp for the night, next to a river after Skirling Pass, Jon confessed to her that he wanted to make her his spearwife that night, out there in the wild. So she gave him a grin as she understood, making it a chase.

With all the strength of her body, she ran away from him, swift as a deer and quiet as a shadow. The freezing night wind whipped painfully against her face and her limbs burned at the effort. It was thrilling and she felt exhilarated every time she could hear his heavy footsteps growing nearer behind her. She hid from him easily behind trees and bushes, and knew she could hide from him for always if she wanted to. But that was dull so she made her presence known soon enough, letting him see her and starting the chase again.

Soon, as she was almost out of breath, she paused to listen for him and was surprised to hear his footsteps so close and barely discernible. She stood still behind an oak tree to wait for him with an eager smile, heart pounding. Soon enough, she felt his arms around her middle. He held her tightly with his whole body, his breath hot and heavy against her ear.

Like a true wildling woman, she fought him off, pushing him away with her hands and kicking him in the shin. But he was much stronger than her and would not release her. But she kept fighting him and suddenly, they were on the grass, Jon's heavy weight pressing her down as his hands held her wrists together with one hand over her head. His face was hovering above hers, both of them breathing harshly. His other hand crept downwards, running a hot line between her breasts and stomach before he cupped her between the legs. Her whole body shuddered, wanting to surrender but her pride rebelled, not willing to give up without a fight.

"I will have you," Jon whispered to her ear, voice dripping with want. "You will be my spearwife tonight."

Her whole body bucked from the ground, trying to fight him off but he caught one of her legs and wrapped it around his waist. With a dark look in his eyes, he pressed his hard manhood to her core, making her stop her thrashing as she instead met his hips with her own, eager for more friction. She looked up at him with eyes full of need as she wantonly locked her legs around his waist, hoping for more.

Jon chuckled in amusement as he peered down at her. "You're supposed to fight me, little wolf. You're no good at this."

"You've already caught me," she said impatiently with a shrug. "Time for the next step."

With a grin, he complied. As Arya tried to salvage her pride as a wildling, pushing and shoving and fighting him as he undressed her, Jon became forceful as he gripped her naked thighs and parted them, pressing himself between them. Arya melted, eager for him as she again forgot to fight him off. They made love under the stars of the True North again and again as she became bonded to him the wildling way, when she became his spearwife.

Far above them, in the deep purple of the night sky, the red wanderer known as the _Thief_ was visible within the constellation of the _Moonmaid_. According to wildling lore, it was the best time for stealing a wife, for a strong and lasting marriage.

***

In her wolf dreams, Arya felt the warm press of the pups inside her womb. The tiny lives inside her fluttered, stronger than a heartbeat. It awakened in her both longing and need, and when she woke and watched Jon sleeping peacefully with his hair fanned out on his pillow and his face soft in slumber, her own heart swelled. She longed for their own brood together, wolf pups of their own making.

Six and a half weeks after Nymeria's quickening, after a difficult dream that made her restless, Arya awoke to the loud howling of wolves. Beyond the cabin's walls, deeper in the mountains, hundreds of them were united in song, in celebration.

Arya and Jon mounted their horses. Swift as arrows hurtling in the wind, brush and bramble fell away and cool winds whipped across their faces. But soon, they came into a clearing that led into a little cave - their direwolves' den. The wolfpack had gathered outside, hundreds of them, grey and black and brown, excited for their pack's King and Queen but wary at their approach.

Carefully, they went inside the rocky mouth of the cave. The iron scent of blood and sharp tang of animal musk was strong. They heard little snuffling noises and in the darkness as their eyes adjusted, they saw the proud young family: Nymeria lying tiredly on her side with a litter of four tiny little pups nursing weakly at her teats while Ghost curled around them protectively. Direwolf eyes looked over at them, glowing gold and bleeding red, and both Jon and Arya smiled at them in complete happiness, even as it also made them yearn for their own pups.

There was a sudden fierce call to their wolf blood, and this blood rushed swiftly to their hearts. Their own wolf children howled longingly from the future, eager to join the pack.

***

With only two days left before their departure, they tried to forget everything else. Here they were, back in the summit of the mountain with the sun high above them and the skies wide and bright blue.

They had spread a thick blanket and several furs in the middle of a field of winter roses and had even brought food for a mid-day meal. It was a warmer day than usual, even so high up in the mountain. Arya was lying on her back, hair spread out on the blanket and furs as she watched the sky. Only a few white puffy clouds drifted as the high sun blinded her, making her squint her eyes.

A distance away, Shadow and Wayfarer were feeding on fresh grass, while nearer to them, Ghost and Nymeria were on their haunches, watching their little brood of pups. All four pups had grown so quickly a moon and a half after their birth. They were now the size of what Ghost and Nymeria had been at the time of their first parting, back in Winterfell. They were different colours: grey, black, red-brown with golden eyes like their mother, and an albino with red eyes like their father. The pups were yelping, biting and playfully chasing each other in the grass.

"Greetings, pretty girl." Jon said with an impish grin. Upside down, his lovely face hovered above her, his knees above her head.

Jon's shadow had blocked out the sun. Her heart fluttered as she watched him. This morning, Arya had cut his hair shorter and shaved his face so his cheeks were smooth. He almost looked like a boy again, eager and full of teasing humour. He looked so young and without worry, and deliciously _just hers_.

Jon had always been very handsome but he looked even more dashing today in his red tunic and black leather breeches. Arya had dressed well today too, wearing supple suede leggings and a grey gown with wolves embroidered on the collar. Before they had left the cabin, they had teased each other but had also complimented each other with words and longing glances.

"I long to have your child in me," Arya said in a rush as their eyes met. "I want your dragons. I want your wolves. I want all of you, my love."

Jon's face lit up at her words, the grin turning into a warm smile full of longing. He bent down and took her lips, taking her breath away. Upside down, the angle of their kiss felt different and strange, but it was still familiar, burning and soothing at the same time, and feeling like the warm comfort of home. The bold sweet flavour of summer wine was on their tongues and their heartbeats were loud as it pounded in their ears.

"It will come," Jon vowed after pulling away with a sigh. He looked down at her with naked affection. "I promise they'll come soon enough, my lovely bride."

Arya nodded with a smile, believing him with all her heart. Jon settled down to lie next to her on the blanket, both of them pressed together as they stared at each other's eyes. They said nothing, not needing words to fill the void.

She thought of all the days that had passed since they reunited. Being here with Jon has been everything to her. The gods have blessed her with the happiest days of her life and she wished dearly that it would never end. But it will soon enough, and it made her sad. They would have to say good-bye soon, with the hope that they would be able to return one day. This place felt like home now, even more than Winterfell, a true home.

But as she felt Jon's warm breath against her lips and his gentle fingers tangled in her hair, she knew that that wasn't right. It was _Jon_ who was her home, not anything or anyone else. No matter where they end up, as long as they were together, everything will be alright.

Arya closed her eyes, feeling peace. This place had healed her, just as much as Jon's love had. She had arrived here almost three moons ago with wounds and gashes across her heart. Night terrors had haunted her every day. But Jon was always there for her just as she was there for him. She was there when he woke from his own nightmares and held him when he was heartsick. They were each other's comfort, security, and warmth.

But the summons were calling. In two days, they will be setting forth with a small party. Eight others had volunteered to accompany them all the way to Winterfell: young men and women in addition to Tormund Giantsbane and his youngest son Dryn.

Supplies had already been bundled, ready to be strapped on to their horses. Their weapons have been sharpened, the tents tightly furled, the villagers counseled about their upcoming departure. A feast had been held in their honour, with laughter, song, and drink, but also tears and words of love. The village has been their home and its people have been their family, and so the parting will be terrible in its own way.

 _Two days,_ she thought. Her whole body seized with heartsick for she missed this place already even before they had even left it. _And then we have to leave. Will we never come back?_

"My little wolf," Jon said. His voice was gentle and Arya smiled at him as she opened her eyes. "Don't be sad. We will surely return here one day. This is not for ever, my love."

Arya reached up and ran her fingers through his hair too, stroking his scalp gently and making him sigh. "As long as I'm with you, that's all that matters to me."

His eyes softened and they kissed again, slow and languid as if they had all the time in the world. They lingered in their secret place deep in the mountains for as long as they could. They kissed as much as they could and as their passions grew, they made love under the bright blue sky, surrounded by the sweet scent of winter roses.

 _Two days_ , the words kept echoing in her ears as she draped her body atop his in the aftermath of their sweet but torrid bedding. Jon pulled her close, covered their bodies with pelts of furs. His arms were solid and secure, his body so warm underneath hers.  _Soon enough but not just yet. Not this day._

***

The day had finally come. Inside Jon's chambers, they watched each other wordlessly. At the same time, they pulled on their smallclothes, wool socks, undershirt, riding leathers, tunic, and leather jerkin.

They went to the solar and next to the front door, leaned down to put on their boots. At her waist she strapped on her belt where Needle and the Cat’s Paw dagger hung, and on his own waist, hung Longclaw and the Dragonheart dagger. Around Jon’s neck was a silver chain, the direwolf-sword pendant lying next to his heart. As they wrapped their cloaks around their shoulders, their eyes met.

Today, both Arya and Jon wore their darkest traveling cloaks because they were going to be in the wilderness for weeks. Both of them wore black, the colours of the Night's Watch, and it was fastened to their bodies with brown leather straps. The furs around their neck was brown and brushed clean. Around their throats were iron clasps shaped like a direwolf head.

"Are you ready?" Jon asked in a gentle voice.

"I am," Arya said with a nod. "And you?"

"Aye, I am," he said. "It's time for us to go home."

A rush of finality seemed to accompany his words and her stomach plummeted, a mixture of fear, hope, and uncertainty making her feel queasy.

Jon's eyes softened as he seemed to gauge what she was feeling. He pulled her close with his arms around her waist, letting her bury her face on his chest.

Arya felt herself relaxing as she wrapped her own arms around his solid waist, letting his familiar scent and warm body comfort her.

"Home is wherever I can be with you, you know." she confessed, smiling gently against his chest. His heartbeat against her ears was strong and steady, and it gave her strength.

Jon pulled away slowly, holding her shoulders back. He was smiling down at her. "Are you ready?" he asked again.

This time, when she nodded, it was full of conviction. The summons were calling. Arya will answer Sansa's call to assist the North. If she was to be the temporary heir, she will do her duty. And in the South, Jon was prepared to make his case to become free from his exile beyond the Wall. It was going to be a long journey and the road will be littered with dangerous enemies. But they were stronger together than apart. The end is what they hope to achieve.

How sweet it would be to go back to the godswood of Winterfell again and pledge their life to each other for true, to be wed together in the eyes of the Old Gods and the people of the North - to be accepted and have a right to happiness, marriage, and a family of their own.

They opened the front door together, the dim light of dawn, a chilly wall of fog, and a rush of biting cold air greeting them. Ghost, Nymeria and the four energetic pups were there too, eagerly awaiting them in front of the cabin, amidst the garden flowers. The sight of the young direwolf family heartened them, gave them hope.

Jon and Arya's gloved hands were clasped tightly together as they stepped outside, uncertain if they will ever return to the sanctuary they've found in their mountain cabin beyond the Wall.

The long road back to Winterfell had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) The summons is a lot more positive than people thought but things are always a lot more complicated in person.  
> (2) Sorry for the delay but they’re on their way soon!  
> (3) As always, I truly appreciate all the comments! Thank you very much!


	11. Interlude: The Northern Conspiracy

**Queen Sansa**

As dawn approached on a new day, Sansa dreamt the old dream of Joffrey on the throne, with herself seated beside him in a gown of woven gold. She had a crown on her head, and everyone she had ever known had come before her, to bend the knee and say their courtesies.

It was a crisp, cool morning when she was woken by a rapping at her door, the sunlight too bright and the singing birds too loud outside her window. The dream had faded by the time she woke and as she blinked, her eyes focused on the pretty wolf crown on her bedside table, the symbol of her being Queen.

Sansa groaned against her pillow, the drink from last night making her head pound from all the noises. She was relieved that she was alone in her room and that she and her lord husband had agreed to have separate chambers. It was far too early to keep up appearances.

With a weary sigh, Sansa pushed herself off of her featherbed and wrapped a fine velvet robe around her linen nightgown. She went to the door, smoothing her long auburn hair along the way to make it presentable. Outside, it was only her handmaiden Marna, whose mousy-brown hair covered her eyes as she bowed to Sansa in respect.

"Good morrow, your grace," said the girl. "A raven has arrived for you with your king-brother's seal."

"Thank you," said Sansa as she took it from her with a nod. She peered curiously at the furled-up scroll, before looking again at her servant. "I'd like to break my fast in my chambers, Marna. That will be all."

The girl curtsied awkwardly then smiled hesitantly at Sansa’s encouraging nod. Sansa shut the door and went to her desk with a frown.

She seated herself with a deep sigh, feeling tired already. Some days, it was difficult to be as strong as her mother. The weight of the crown was heavy on her head and she felt so alone. She wished Father and Mother were still alive to help guide her in the enormous task of leading the North. Sometimes, despite all his sins against her family, she even missed Lord Baelish’s wise counsel for he had been the smartest man she knew. There seemed to be a never ending parade of problems in her kingdom. Sometimes, it felt as if she had made a mistake in becoming Queen.

She missed her brother Bran, the only family she had who was still within range of communication. She and Bran had maintained constant correspondence throughout the last few years after their ascension to their crowns, while both Jon and Arya had been silent on their ends. Her cousin had never answered any of her letters to Castle Black while her little sister had been unreachable from across the Sunset Sea.

Winterfell had been different and lonely without them all, as they had all gone their separate ways after the war. Sometimes she had felt like a stranger within its grey walls, the ghosts of her family haunting her.

She also missed being in the South a little bit, if she was being honest with herself. Despite all the horrors she had seen there, the South remained to her full of the promise of her youth: the rich decadence amidst the lavish royal halls, the chivalrous knights with their armour glinting in the sun as they rode valiantly in daring tourneys, the pretty ladies in their perfumed silken gowns as they danced in the summer feasts, tables full of the finest dishes from all the land like succulent tender fowls roasted to perfection, delicate little side dishes from across the seas, sweet plum wine, and all the lemon cakes she could want. It was the summer she had dreamed about as a child and despite knowing the harsh truths behind the facade, the longing still remained.

The South was also her mother's home, the woman who Sansa identified with the most, their similarities and connection deeper than the fair Tully looks and lush auburn hair she inherited from her. Perhaps being denied this childhood dream because she no longer could belong there made it so much sweeter in her mind.

Sansa knew that it hadn't been all good, of course. She had once been surrounded by dangerous enemies, surviving only through her courtesies.

Queen Cersei and Prince Joffrey: she had once loved and admired them enough to tell on her lord father for fear of leaving the capital and the prince behind, unintentionally betraying him. She had paid dearly for it, losing her lord father, her security, and her name. As their hostage, she had been forced into marriage with Lord Tyrion Lannister, the imp.

And yet, she had learned her lessons well from House Lannister, as well as from Lord Petyr Baelish. She will never forget their lessons of politics, the art of playing the game - it had led her to her path to becoming the Queen in the North.

And also, she had gained the eventual friendship and confidence of Lord Tyrion, who she was still technically married to, despite having a new lord husband. They still corresponded regularly as he gave her political counsel in the running of the North.

But she had also gained some friends and allies, like the young and beautiful Tyrell siblings, Lady Margaery and Ser Loras. Even their grandmother Lady Olenna had been a comfort to her in her darkest times, especially as she had raised the possibility of Sansa being taken to Highgarden to be married to the Tyrell heir, Willas, who was crippled, but was kind, intelligent, and capable. Sansa had readily agreed, anxious to be free of the Lannisters and had many hopeful dreams of being the Lady of Highgarden. But unfortunately, fate took another turn as she was married to the imp instead and became Lady Lannister.

In a way, she missed the Vale as well. It had been her refuge after fleeing from the Lannisters after Joffrey’s death. She grew there, in the days when she had been living in secret as Lord Petyr Baelish’s bastard daughter _Alayne Stone_. Under his tutelage, the little bird grew and learned how to soar high like a falcon in the sky. After her Aunt Lysa’s untimely death, she became the de facto Lady of the Eyrie, surrounded by her aunt’s jewels and wardrobe of silks, satins, velvets, and furs.

Sansa taught her sickly little cousin _Sweetrobin_ about matters of court, even as she smiled at him while giving him doses of the _sweetsleep_. She learned to scheme and play games, starting from gaining Harry the Heir’s confidence, to putting herself in the position to someday marry him and becoming the true Lady of the Eyrie - another step closer to reclaiming her birthright to Winterfell.

Lady of Casterly Rock, Lady of the Eyrie, then finally Lady of Winterfell.

 _When Robert dies,_  Petyr had said to her. _Harry the Heir becomes Lord Harrold, Defender of the Vale and Lord of the Eyrie. Jon Arryn's bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon. And when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back - why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright. So those are your gifts from me, my sweet Sansa - Harry, the Eyrie, and Winterfell._

The plan had been halted when they heard the unbelievable reports of her bastard brother Jon Snow riding to Winterfell from Castle Black as their little sister Arya had suddenly been found and married off to one of their enemies: the cruel Ramsay Snow who had been made into a Bolton. Jon had an army of wildlings with him but there was also the Northern plot. The lords rallied him to become the King in the North as they had claimed that he’d been named so in Robb’s will. And in Arya's name who was suffering as the child bride of the monster Ramsay, they rode forth to retake Winterfell.

Lord Baelish and Sansa had hurried North as soon as possible with Jon Arryn's bannermen and their armies, most of them remembering Lord Eddard Stark from when he was fostered in the Vale. As an extension of their love for him, they would whisper Arya's name reverently, so far as calling her fondly as  _Valiant Ned's daughter_. They even had noble words about Jon Snow who had been named after their liege lord Jon Arryn and was told to look the most like his father Ned, as if they knew him personally.

It had been the most difficult physical feat Sansa had ever had to do. For weeks, her legs had ached terribly as she rode on a horse at a quick and brutal pace as she shivered through the winter winds in her furs, as she hadn’t been afforded the luxury of being able to stay in the comfort of a wheelhouse. Her only consolation had been the fact that they were able to bring her handmaiden with her, the girl riding next to her during the day as they grumbled together in their saddles, and staying close to her at night in her tent so as to ward off the frost of the bitter North.

The army of the Vale rode ahead of them with their blue Arryn banner flapping in the wind, weapons drawn as the battle drew nearer, the horrible screams of war echoing through the plains of snow.

When Winterfell finally lay in front of the rest of their party, the battle had long been over. A terrible sight laid before them, making Sansa retch at the sight and smells. She had covered her nose with her gloved hand and her eyes had watered. It had been so difficult to keep herself from vomiting.

The fields around the burnt castle had been littered with the mangled corpses of both allies and enemies, the ugly stench of death heavy in the air as dark red blood soaked through the muddy snow.

King Jon Snow had torn the lands asunder looking for his little sister, and had retaken Winterfell by conquest in the process. When Sansa warily entered the grey walls of the burnt castle atop her horse next to Petyr, it was to see her bastard brother on the muddy snow of the courtyard, completely covered in blood and battle gore, his teeth bared and his lips cruel as he squeezed the life out of Ramsay Bolton's neck with his bare hands.

For the first time ever, Sansa had been frightened of the monster her bastard brother had become, so far removed from the sullen boy he used to be when he had been running around Winterfell as a child with Robb or Arya. Jon had been utterly horrible and almost feral as he had stood tall with a bloodied sword in his hand and a battered corpse at his feet. With his voice echoing inside the granite walls of Winterfell's courtyard, Jon Snow had fiercely demanded for the whereabouts of his favourite little sister Arya, blind to anything else and barely acknowledging her when he realised who she was, for she was not the sister he had sought.

The only question he had asked that day was if her lord husband Tyrion was also present, reminding her that she was Lady Lannister to the North now. Even the other Northern lords would only ever call her that too, no longer seeing her as a Stark. 

It had been a blur of battle and politics after that as Lord Baelish plotted for her to retake what was rightfully hers from her bastard brother - the crown of Winterfell and the North. She and Jon had a difficult alliance as she felt as if Jon barely listened to her when she tried to advise him on the running of the castle, and the Northern lords scarcely gave her any attention.

Jon had been single-minded in his quest to find Arya, obsessed despite the fact that it was nothing but a lost cause. The fact that the nobility and smallfolk had loved _Jon Snow_  despite his darkness had been deeply unsettling to her and she wondered why they would choose him over her who was the trueborn Stark daughter. Had it been because she had just been a girl of thirteen and they had a man grown to rally for during a difficult time of war? It had left her feeling vestiges of grief and sometimes even resentment, especially with Petyr at her ear.

Heartbroken at not finding Arya, Jon had gone into mourning for his favourite sibling and became even more grim as he doubled his efforts to prepare for yet another war, this time against the dead from beyond the Wall. And for a time, Winterfell had been hers as Jon rode South to gather supplies and allies for his claimed War with the Others, a secret part of her feeling more at ease with his departure. They had never been close as children and the years after had not improved their kinship much.

When her brother Bran came back from beyond the Wall, Petyr had been frustrated because his arrival meant that Sansa could no longer claim to be the rightful heir to Winterfell. This was doubled by the fact that, according to Robb’s will, Sansa had long been disinherited because she became Lady Lannister because of her marriage to the imp.

When Arya finally made her way back as well from a long and mysterious absence, Petyr had been furious because even her little sister trumped Sansa in the line of succession. The only consolation had been the fact that Bran was more preoccupied with his greenseering and Arya didn’t seem interested at all in becoming involved in Northern politics despite the fact that she and their brother were loved by their people.

Behind her back, Lord Baelish schemed to make sure that word was not spread about Sansa being disinherited according to Robb's will, the secrecy forcefully kept through bribes and manipulation. He told her that it helped that the physical copy of the will was nowhere to be found. Everyone who believed in the will couldn’t truly prove it. It was all a verbal declaration, albeit from many lords who had been King Robb’s bannermen before his untimely death.

Petyr had smiled to her in private as he told her that it was to be his final gift to her, this scheme of his: the gift being Winterfell.

This had been right before Sansa had been forced to testify against him in a trial that revealed his murder of her Aunt Lysa Arryn. Before Bran had uncovered his plot that had led to their father’s death. And before Arya had to swing her dagger and deliver the King's justice as Lord Baelish was sentenced to death by the combined council of the North and the Vale.

After all the horrible wars that involved the Others, dragons, direwolves and tyrant Queens, the time finally came for the Northern crown to pass on to an heir. Because of Jon's exile, Sansa took her rightful birthright and had been crowned the Queen.

It had been a long and difficult road but she had achieved what Petyr had groomed her for. She was to be the Lady of Casterly Rock at one point, the Lady of the Eyrie at another, and the Lady of Winterfell during the war. Then finally, Sansa became the Queen in the North.

In the North now years later, her youth seemed to be fading away from her far too quickly because of all the problems she had encountered. From the moment the pretty wolf crown touched her auburn hair at her coronation, she's had to deal with the endless grumblings of her vassals. No one seemed to forget that she had still been married to Lord Tyrion Lannister when she was crowned and with her as Queen, the North technically became a part of the Lannister's lands.

In a hurry, with the urging of the advisors she’s amassed, she sought out hopeful young lords from lesser houses so that she could choose from them a lord husband. She also sent a letter to her brother King Bran of the Six Kingdoms, pleading with him to get the new High Septon to annul her marriage to Lord Lannister.

But the new High Septon had been adamant in not allowing her requested annulment despite all her gifts and pleading. _Marriage was for life_ was what she was angrily told and not even her royal standing could end the vows she had made to the Faith of the Seven. So instead, Sansa had been forced to keep silent about her first marriage, hoping that the North would soon forget or give her leeway as Ned Stark’s daughter.

Choosing her new lord husband had been easier than she thought. A young man who was her own age stood out amongst the others with their stoic Northern faces - Lord Willam of House Dustin had striking light features, an easy-going demeanor, and could easily make her laugh in the early days. His fair appearance reminded her of noble Ser Loras of House Tyrell, a beautiful man who knew his graces unlike the dour faces and abrupt manner of the other Northern lords. Her mother Lady Catelyn Stark would have been happy with her choice.

The moon that followed after she made her choice was a quick courtship, a sudden betrothal, then an even swifter marriage.

They were united as one in her mother's Sept with a few select vassals to witness the wedding. A great feast followed after and she had made sure to make it as grand as the ones she had witnessed in the South, full of dancing and songs all throughout the day and night. A wedding pie was also presented, filled with living birds that flew skyward after Sansa and her new lord husband cut into it. It had been a happy day for her.

Within the first year of her reign, her hold to the North became more stable because she had married a lesser Northern lord and started calling herself a Stark again. It was a promising time and she almost wanted to fall in love with her sweet Willam who tried to please her at court and behind closed doors, in their bed.

But Sansa had been wounded far too deeply in matters of the heart before that it was difficult to trust too easily. Instead of giving her whole heart, she had kept it guarded, just in case. She kept herself busy with her duties, as she tried to encourage him to be a man that the Northern lords could rally as their High Lord. Eventually, the early passion died down as even in bed, what was once so fiery stagnated only into duty as he tried to put a Stark heir in her womb.

But Willam had not been entirely happy with her decision not to make him a King of equal standing with her, as he craved his own power. A Stark heir could not be produced after nearly three years of trying, even as joyous news from ravens flew in from all over Westeros as babes and heirs were being born in the Southron Houses.

Worst still, Willam had done to her what her own lord father did to her beloved mother: he betrayed her in the worst way even in their first year together. His bastard _Gawen Snow_ was born nine moons after a fierce fight they'd had, when she'd driven him from her bed in anger. The boy had been a product of a sinful night at a brothel, his mother who had died in childbirth not even significant enough to be of mention.

Just like her father Lord Eddark Stark once did, Willam chose to keep the boy by his side, to be raised like a lord's son. It irked Sansa whenever she saw the babe who looked just like his father, the proof of her lord husband's betrayal. But truth be told, she didn't feel much of anything for Willam so she let the boy remain.

Sansa knew in her mind that she couldn't truly compare her father and her husband Willam because in truth, Jon had never been her bastard brother. Her mother had never been betrayed - her father never strayed in their marriage.

But the agony and betrayal that her mother had felt left a firm imprint on her as a child as she copied her mother in her disregard for her bastard brother. And in this new bastard Snow that toddled inside Winterfell as if he was going to be the heir one day, she couldn't help but keep the boy at a distance. Most days, she tolerated the child, but some others, she wanted him to be sent away to his lord father's House for he was a stain to her marriage, and should not grow up to believe that he will one day inherit the Stark crown.

Therein lay Sansa's foremost problem. Almost three years of Willam and herself doing their duty in the matrimonial bed had produced no heir in her womb. It had never been for lack of trying - even if they fought, they always did their duty even if they nearly flew from each other in a hurry after the deed was done.

Quite possibly, Sansa was a barren Queen. And this was not acceptable.

As the lords of the North grumbled once again because of the instability caused by the lack of heir, Willam offered a simple solution: she was a Queen and could simply legitimise his bastard son so that he could become become _Crown Prince Gawen Stark_. That had caused their biggest argument so far, and Sansa had been so angry with her lord husband that it drove him to journey home to Barrowton with his bastard babe for two moons.

How could her lord husband suggest such a thing when Sansa still had three Stark siblings alive? There were three options as temporary heir to appease the Northern lords while she still hoped to have her own babe one day.

First, of course, was Jon Snow who used to be the King in the North and who was still known by all as her bastard brother. Second would be Bran who was the next in line to her if she followed the right trueborn order. Then finally, there was Arya who was the last option.

Of course, there were problems with all of them. Jon was exiled beyond the Wall and would never set foot in Winterfell again by her estimate. Furthermore, he was not truly a Stark but a Targaryen. Even if she counted that he could still be in the line of succession due to him being Lyanna Stark's son, he would still be after Bran and Arya who were both Lord Eddard Stark’s children.

With regards to Bran, he had his own kingdom now down south, and to give him the North would mean that they would lose their hard-fought independence. She could never see herself doing that.

Finally, there was her little sister Arya. No one else could be less suited to the role than her sister. Arya had never ran a castle let alone a household, or commanded armies, or dealt with lords and their constant grumblings. She had never had to keep her head down and hold her tongue in the face of both enemies and allies. She wasn't accustomed to her graces in court.

Perhaps that wasn't entirely true though for Arya had been better at her in numbers and running a household even as a child. When Lord Baelish had been alive, it was easy enough for Sansa to say all the right things and appear as competent as possible in the political sense and the running of the castle but his loss had weakened her abilities. During the war, Arya had taken over for her in these duties as Sansa had turned to other matters in court.

Arya’s other advantage was the fact that she was a Hero of Winterfell, celebrated by all as she had somehow managed to kill the Night King during the war. And even before that, they had already rallied in her name as the Northern bannermen rose their armies under King Jon Snow’s command and retook Winterfell from the Boltons. Arya had already been so loved by the North, enough to rally for, even when it had actually been Jeyne Poole who had taken her identity and married the Bolton bastard. Her daring feats in the War for the Dawn had lifted her status to that of a legendary figure just like in the songs. And in her absence after the war, there were constant whispers that she should have been Queen, much to Sansa’s trepidation.

Sansa knew that she’ll have to settle for her little sister to become her temporary heir. She would have to teach her so many things after Arya had spent far too long away from court, running around like a feral wolf in the wilderness or voyaging across the seas away from any sort of duty. She’ll have to tame her wildness if the North was to remain under House Stark, to instill in her their lady mother’s lessons from a lifetime ago.

Sansa would have to find a suitable match for her too now that she was of age and hope that she behaves herself accordingly as a lord’s wife, outgrowing her childish whims and doing her duty for their people. It was unfortunate that it was now too late to marry her off to Lord Baratheon, the bastard smith who became the Lord of Storm's End. Sansa had been surprised to receive ravens from him, asking her about her little sister's whereabouts, the tone of the letters full of restrained affection.

And when Arya will finally be able to produce a Stark heir for their family, Sansa would let her be, free to move to her lord husband's home or go back to the wilderness or even back over the western seas like the _Wandering Wolf_ that everyone knew her as, if that would make her happy. Sansa would be able to commit this new babe to be her trueborn heir, adopted as her own child for in its veins would flow the blood of Winter Kings, just like hers.

Presently, Sansa sighed tiredly as she broke Bran’s royal seal, unfurling the scroll and reading his fine script:

_Dear Sansa,_

_Fair tidings to you, sweet sister. The western winds have finally turned and the answer you seek to your problems has been revealed. Our sister Arya has returned from her voyage from across the Sunset Sea, and her ship has recently docked at Pyke. In the next few days, she will be riding North. If she does not appear to you in a moon, it will be because she will have gone to our cousin Aegon. You must write Satin Flowers in haste if you want to reach her in time. I too will be summoning her, as well as our cousin Aegon, so you may see them both when you call for her._

_May the old gods bless you, my sister._

_Your Brother Bran,_  
King of the Six Kingdoms

Sansa's breath stilled as she read the letter in shock. The winds have turned indeed. It was surprising to hear about Arya's sudden return to Westeros. Her council had told her that her sister’s journey had been ill-advised as no one had ever accomplished the feat before, making it back alive from beyond the western seas.

Although Sansa had hoped for her sister’s return, it had still seemed like an impossible feat. To know that Arya had succeeded gave her a mixture of both astonishing disbelief and overwhelming relief.

Sansa knew then that her little sister was probably one of the luckiest people she knew, blessed by the gods in her many accomplishments. Arya had never had to struggle as much as Sansa has.

Time was of the essence though. Sansa would have to make preparations to welcome her sister back and this would begin with a letter to Castle Black - one that wouldn’t be burned as soon as it arrived, just like all her letters to her cousin Jon, as per the report of her Master of Whisperers.

Determined to make things right, Sansa pulled out a fresh scroll of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink so as to begin writing to Arya. She hoped that her summons would reach Castle Black long before Arya would set foot in it. There was no doubt that her little sister would bypass her and go straight to Jon, her favourite sibling and possibly the person she loved the most in the world.

***

**Robett Glover**

Deepwood Motte was an old and not particularly strong castle. Its longhall sat on a hill with a flattened top, along with a watchtower rising fifty feet higher, the tallest object this side of the northern mountains. Below the hill was a bailey containing stables, paddock, smithy, well, and sheepfold. They were defended by a ditch, earthen dike, and palisade of logs. Deepwood's mossy outer walls were protected by two square towers and wallwalks. East and west of the castle were fields of oat and barley.

It was still a wonder how their stronghold had survived the War against the Others three years ago. They had been fortunate that only a gaggle of wights had strayed west as the main body of the undead army had headed for Winterfell.

Lord Glover stood now at the watchtower, eyes watching the rolling green valleys that led to the glittering black waters of the Bay of Ice and in it, the small green shape of Bear Island. Somewhere across the water, deep in the north beyond the Wall, was the Princess Arya Stark and the former King in the North Jon Snow.

A letter from Winterfell had arrived just this morning, informing them that Princess Arya had returned to Westeros and with her homecoming in a few moons, the bannermen of the Starks will be called for once more.

"What do you think this one's about? Our Queen will be calling forth the Northern bannermen very soon." Lady Maege Mormont said, with an uneven smile. She stood beside him at the tower, just as fierce as he remembered her in their youth, and still looking homely despite her grey hair, lined face, and short and stout stature. As always, she was dressed in her patched ringmail, with a spiked mace at her side. War had made her into an even more fearsome warrior, the  _She-Bear_ of House Mormont. Among her five daughters, she had lost her eldest Dacey who rode with her to the Riverlands when Robb called for the banners and had died with him during the Red Wedding, and her youngest Lyanna who had been sent to Winterfell as her envoy.

Lord Glover curled his lips into a sneer as he touched the pommel of his sword. He had chosen not to support the Great War, as he had instead barricaded himself in safety at Deepwood. The guilt will always come to him from time to time, but most especially when he saw the fierce women warriors of Bear Island. "The Queen's prayers to her Southron gods have been answered. Her little sister will once again come forth to save the day."

"You remember her now then?" she asked, watching him closely now with a thoughtful expression. Her old eyes were narrowed, the weak sunlight of the grey sky glittering on its black depths.

"Aye," he said, nodding gravely. "I remember that day in Harrenhal, when I had been rotting in its cells like a common prisoner. She had called herself _Weasel_ and she and a few men who claimed to be sellswords had freed a hundred Northmen after burning the guards with hot soup. I never would have known this had I not been told. A few of those Northmen had been present at Winterfell during the War for the Dawn. They had recognised the girl Weasel as none other than Princess Arya Stark!" he exclaimed, still in disbelief even three years after he had learned about this. "When I saw Weasel, I had only seen a little girl with ragged clothes and a dirty face, no one important. Although, thinking about it now, there was something about her that was familiar to me, as if I had seen her before."

"She is the likeness of Lady Lyanna Stark," Lady Mormont said, nodding her head in approval. "My own Lyanna had written to me from Winterfell, telling me about the girl who had come home with a hundred wolves, and with a great direwolf by her side like King Jon Snow. She and my Lyanna had been a lot alike, young and brave and fierce." Her eyes shone now with utter desolation of the worst kind. It spoke of a pain greater than losing a parent or a husband or a wife or a friend: that of losing one's child.

Lord Glover cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from her, affected too as he recalled the proud little girl - the _Little She-Bear_ of House Mormont. His voice was hoarse when he spoke again, "She's at rest now."

"Yes," Lady Mormont said gravely. "But now, her brave warrior companion Princess Arya is back. I'm sure the North is now in an uproar over this news."

"King Robb's will." he muttered gravely, his thoughts on his former king.

Robb Stark had started out as just a boy, not even a man grown, as the war started and he had called for his bannermen. He had favoured his Tully side, with a stocky build, blue eyes and thick red-brown hair. Strong and fast, he'd been an excellent swordsman.

They had called him the _Young Wolf_ and even before he'd been proclaimed as King in the North, he had been regarded as a great leader of men as he stood tall with his surcoat over his armor, and carried an oak shield decorated with a direwolf's head. He had been his father Eddard's son through and through, with a keen sense of justice and a firm devotion to honour. Despite his Tully looks, the blood of Winter Kings had flowed in his veins so fiercely, especially with his great direwolf Greywind always by his side.

Lady Mormont looked to him now with deep conviction. "Eight people know the contents of King Robb's will. You and I are two of these eight people. But the will has not been seen for years. I know there is at least two copies. I, along with Lord Jason Mallister, had hand-delivered one to Lord Howland Reed. But no one has managed to find him and he hasn't left Greywater Watch in years. We all know the gist of the contents from memory but no one had pursued the sealed physical copy of it."

"How could they?" he asked with a shrug. "We have a Queen now. And there are no alternatives what with Jon exiled north of the Wall, Bran becoming King of the South, and Arya having left the continent once more like the _Wandering Wolf_ she is. But it will be interesting to see what happens now with her return."

She laughed beside him, full of both humour and bitterness. "I expect our Southron Queen will have already planned many things for her little sister. But the girl is wild like the North, a true _She-Wolf_. I cannot wait to see her though. I feel a keen soft spot for her. She reminds me a lot of my youngest daughter."

He nodded in agreement. "And I long for the moment when I can thank her in person, for the fateful day when she rescued me and a hundred Northmen from the stinking cells of Harrenhall. She had saved all our lives and I shall never forget it."

"And for all our lives when she defeated the Others along with her half-brother Jon Snow as the commander of the armies." she chimed in, with a weary smile that creased the lines around her face.

"Aye," he agreed, his lips curving up with a rare fond smile. "That too."

***

**Tycho Nestoris**

The cool afternoon fog from the outside was so heavy that it seeped inside the open window. Tycho frowned as he tiredly leaned back on his chair, his bones weary and his belly growling in hunger as he longed for the comfort of home. It had been a long day yet again, buried as he had been in all his paperwork.

Tycho had been stuck for years working inside the Iron Bank after a promotion and although he had been happy at the time because of an increase in salary, a part of him regretted it now. For a long time, he had worked as an envoy to Westeros, dealing with its Kings, Queens, Lords and Ladies. He missed it now - the journey across the sea with the ship rocking under his boots as salty winds whipped across his face, the wild and beautiful landscape of the continent as he went forth and sought contracts with the most powerful. He even missed the thrill of danger that lurked beneath the adventure, because each war brought more profit than the last.

He wished now that he would be the one to go back across the Narrow Sea for this one mission, to deliver the sealed scroll that was lying innocently on the surface of the polished wood of his desk.

"That is all that a man must do?" the man from across the table said, the lilting Lorathi accent of his voice soft. On his lips was a small sly smile, as if he found great amusement at his task. It annoyed Tycho as he regarded the man's tall and slender frame, hating the way that the man's plain forgettable face looked so smug.

Beside the man stood the new envoy that replaced Tycho, so green that he was shaking in all his silken finery as he kept glancing at the other man with fear. His short, squat, and mousy presence irritated Tycho even more, because a part of him suspected that someone high and mighty had pulled strings for the young man to take his place as envoy to Westeros. The young man was the son of one of the wealthy bankers, eager to learn the ropes and follow in his father's footsteps. It would be his first time to go across the Narrow Sea.

"Yes," Tycho said brusquely, turning away from both men and glancing forlornly at the papers that was still stacked so high at his desk. "Now go. I have a lot of things to do. Report to me when the deed is done."

The man bowed to him but said nothing and when Tycho looked up, he had disappeared like a shadow, and with him the scroll. The young man who had been standing next to him gasped as if he had just realised what had happened and with wide eyes and a hurried nod to Tycho, he ran from the room in search of his guide to the continent across the sea.

Tycho clenched his jaw and sighed deeply, longing for the day's end, before burying his head down again to work.

***

**Wyman Manderly**

White Harbour was a city in the north which contained New Castle, the seat of House Manderly. Located south of Winterfell, it was the largest settlement north of the Neck, but the smallest among the five major cities of Westeros. It was situated on the eastern shore of the White Knife. It was clean and well-ordered, with wide straight cobbled streets that make it easy to walk around. The houses were built of whitewashed stone, with steeply-pitched roofs of dark grey slate.

House Manderly was one of the most powerful and loyal vassals of House Stark as well as the richest Northern family due to their control of the only city in the region. Unlike most other Northern houses, they followed the Faith of the Seven instead of the Old Gods, as the family emigrated from the Reach after the Andal invasion. The Manderlys were an ancient line who once lived along the banks of the mighty river Mander in the Kingdom of the Reach, and some claim the river was named after them. They were a noble house of great lords descended from the First Men, and had once held the castle of Dunstonbury as their seat. House Manderly had overreached themselves however and had been exiled from the South.

The Manderlys were left sore, friendless and in peril of their lives. They fled north, and were welcomed by the Starks of Winterfell as their own bannermen. The Starks awarded the Wolf's Den to the Manderlys and tasked them with defending the White Knife in return for swearing an oath that they would always be loyal subjects of House Stark. This history instilled the Manderlys with great loyalty to their new liege lords.

Over many decades, Lord Wyman Manderly had seen high lords rise and fall, as well as kings and queens. He had seen numerous war and cruel brutality, and even great mythical dragons flying in the skies led by a foreign queen. He’d listened to rumours about a great wolf army being led by a little girl. He'd heard of a bastard rising from the dead and becoming king, and the same bastard king becoming a great war tactician as he led the war of the living against the dead. He'd heard songs about a little princess who conquered the world by ending the Long Night with both her wolf army and her little Valyrian dagger. He'd seen a boy king marching off to war with eighteen thousand bannermen because of his lord father's imprisonment at the capital, and later felt the cruel aftermath of a bloody massacre involving that same young king.

In the War of the Five Kings, Lord Manderly's own two sons had fought under King Robb Stark as his bannermen. He had lost his second son Wendel during the Red Wedding, while his firstborn son and heir Wylis had been captured by the Lannisters while he fought in the fords of the Trident.

It was right after King Robb was slain during the horrible Red Wedding that the devastated North had begun to plot. There had been a race to find the true Heir of Winterfell, in addition to orchestrating a plot to avenge the loss of the fallen Starks as well as the loss of thousands of Northern bannermen.

And that had been a game that Lord Manderly played well, going so far as to play the mummer's farce of acting cordially with the Freys and the Boltons because the Lannisters had captured his eldest son and heir. They'd mocked him and called him names: Lord Pig, Lord Lard, Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse. He kept his head down and let them laugh at his expense, waiting for the right moment to take action.

And finally, when his son and heir was returned to White Harbour after he had pretended to execute Lord Davos Seaworth for the Lannisters, he took his revenge on the Freys who came to visit. There had been three who were on the way to Winterfell, for Arya and Ramsay's wedding.

_My son Wendel came to the Twins a guest. He ate Lord Walder's bread and salt, and hung his sword upon the wall to feast with friends. And they murdered him. Murdered, I say, and may the Freys choke upon their fables. I drink with Jared, jape with Symond, promise Rhaegar the hand of my own beloved granddaughter... but never think that means I have forgotten._

_The north remembers, and the mummer’s farce is almost done. My son is home._

And so Lord Manderly made sure to enact the laws of hospitality to the visiting Freys who were on their way to Ramsay and Arya’s wedding. But unlike the Freys, he had made an explicit mention about when the guest right ended - it was when the hosts provided their guests with gifts on their day of departure.

_"I shall go by barge and litter, attended by a hundred knights and my good friends from the Twins. The Freys came here by sea. They have no horses with them, so I shall present each of them with a palfrey as a guest gift. Do hosts still give guest gifts in the south?"_

_"Some do, my lord. On the day their guest departs."_

_"Perhaps you understand, then."_

When Lord Manderly went to Winterfell for the accursed wedding, he did so with a snail's pace, and the three Freys had been impatient and rode on ahead to Barrowton. But they never reached their destination, and were presumed lost.

_"Did you find your cousins, my lord?"_

_"No. I never thought we would. They're dead. Lord Wyman Manderly had them killed. That's what I would have done if I was him."_

At the wedding feast of Ramsay and Arya, there were three pies - one for each of the missing Freys. Lord Manderly served these pies personally: to Roose Bolton, Walda Frey, Hosteen Frey and Aenys Frey - the families that orchestrated the Red Wedding.

_...and lastly on three great wedding pies, as wide across as wagon wheels, their flaky crusts stuffed to bursting with carrots, onions, turnips, parsnips, mushrooms, and chunks of seasoned pork swimming in a savory brown gravy. Ramsay hacked off slices with his falchion and Wyman Manderly himself served, presenting the first steaming portions to Roose Bolton and his fat Frey wife, the next to Ser Hosteen and Ser Aenys, the sons of Walder Frey. "The best pie you have ever tasted, my lords," the fat Lord Manderly declared. "Wash it down with Arbor gold and savor every bite. I know I shall."_

And finally, Lord Manderly asked Abel to sing the _Rat Cook_ , which was a cautionary tale for those who broke the guest right, with cannibalism involved.

_The Rat Cook took his vengeance on an Andal king: he killed his son, cooked the prince in a bacon pie, served it to his father, who ate it and asked for seconds._

That day, Lord Manderly had his vengeance on an Andal lord, Aenys, by killing his son Rhaegar who was named after a prince and served him in a pork pie. 

_Lord Manderly was so drunk he required four strong men to help him from the hall. "We should have a song about the Rat Cook," he was muttering, as he staggered past Theon, leaning on his knights. "Singer, give us a song about the Rat Cook."_

That had been Lord Manderly's personal revenge for the North, served in human pies...

As for his own city - White Harbour had not been spared, its people losing loved ones in Winterfell, the Riverlands, the Red Wedding, and even Kings Landing. And yet despite the losses, the great city had still benefited greatly from its location, being the only trade port of the North.

The years have not been kind to the North however. The loss of Lord Eddard Stark caused a great downward spiral and although King Robb had been a great military tactician, his war against the South had caused far too many losses for the North. Thousands had perished in the war, along with their king. Sansa was also lost to them after she was wed to Lord Tyrion, no longer a Stark in name but a Lannister. Bran and Rickon had been lost to them as well when Theon Greyjoy sacked Winterfell and executed the two young boys.

Perhaps the greatest tragedy of all had been when Queen Cersei had sent Arya Stark North to Winterfell - when beloved Ned's little daughter became a child bride to Roose Bolton's sadistic bastard Ramsay because she was the last trueborn heir to the North. That had been the hardest thing to bear for all of the North.

The Southron kingdoms may see Lord Eddard Stark as a traitor but he had been loved in the North. His leadership had been steadfast and he had lived a life of honour. Arya, who had arguably been her father’s favourite, had been the personification of that honour. To know that she was within the clutches of their enemies and that every night, the sadistic Bolton bastard was ruining her honour had been the last straw.

This had triggered the Northern conspiracy, when the mountain clans rose up, because they couldn't bear to let Valiant Ned's little girl suffer like that. From all over the North, the bannermen were rallied with Arya Stark’s name on their lips as the Northern Houses united as one: Flints, Mormonts, Glovers, Umbers, Cerwyns, Tallharts, Manderlys, and so many others. And in the end, even Lady Dustin and Lord Ryswell and other supposed supporters of the Boltons became turncoats, joining with the rest of the North in uniting once more under the Stark banner...

The surprising emergence of Jon Snow who rode from the Wall after his rumoured death had been a beacon of hope and the entire North had united as they rode forth to retake Winterfell, and save Valiant Ned's beloved daughter Arya from the clutches of the sadistic bastard Ramsay Bolton. This unification right before Winterfell was retaken in bloody conquest had the Northern bannermen crowning Jon Snow as king, as key lords and ladies had been present who knew the details of King Robb's will.

Robb's will: ever so important and one more thing to turn the tide when Jon Snow wanted to fight through hell to take back his little sister from her monster abductor.

The knowledge about this will was known to a few bannermen but the physical copy had never emerged. The rumour was that the will proclaimed Jon Snow as the successor to King Robb, because it was known at the time that his trueborn brothers Bran and Rickon had been killed during the Sack of Winterfell. No word had also been heard about the youngest sister Arya.

As for Sansa, everyone knew that as soon as she married Lord Tyrion Lannister, she was lost to the North. King Robb had proclaimed that the North must never fall to Lannister hands and so had written out his sister Sansa from the line of succession. To Lord Manderly's understanding, if the will had emerged, the order would have been Jon Snow as the heir, but if King Robb's trueborn siblings were alive, it would have been Bran, then Rickon, then Arya. Lady Sansa Lannister, of course, was no longer a contender, not even given the title of Princess.

Lord Manderly had other plans during the contention for the heir, even before Jon Snow was proclaimed as the new King. He had gotten wind of the fact that the youngest Stark, Rickon, was still alive and was being hidden in the wildling island of Skagos.

He had sent forth Lord Davos Seaworth to retrieve the young boy, gambling on being able to be the one to find him and seat him as the trueborn heir, with the silent hope for a betrothal between the young boy and one of his granddaughters. But unfortunately, Lord Seaworth had come back without finding the young Stark and he had to eventually accept King Jon Snow as the true ruler of the North.

It had been a grim grey afternoon when almost all of the Northern houses and clans had been united together in a camp that was a fortnight’s ride away from Winterfell, right before what will one day be called Battle of the Bastards. As the snows fell and the frozen winds blew so harshly that it made them all shiver around a great campfire, there was a rumble in the crowd. Jon and his albino direwolf were surrounded by Robb's bannermen, as well as his wildling army.

Lords and Ladies who knew about Robb's will finally spoke. Jon Snow and the rest of the Northern bannermen were informed of the details about this will: that only Robb Stark, Catelyn Stark, Edmure Tully, Greatjon Umber, Maege Mormont, Galbart Glover, Jason Mallister and Raynald Westerling had been present when this will had been created.

But the sealed physical copy of the will itself had been transported by the captain of a ship called  _Myraham_ , which was headed towards Oldtown. Another sealed copy was sent for safekeeping to Lord Howland Reed in Greywater Watch, and this had been personally delivered by Lady Maege Mormont, Lord Galbart Glover, and Lord Jason Mallister.

When the will had been proclaimed, the snowy camp went mad.

Every man and woman began to shout at once. They leapt to their feet, shaking not from the cold.

It was the Lady Maege Mormont who had spoken the loudest, with her youngest daughter Lyanna by her side.

_"We know no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark!"_

Swords from every scabbard were raised high in the air. Bows, maces, spears, battle axes, and war hammers were raised too, some smashed like war drums against shields. The roar of the crowd was deafening when, as one, they all proclaimed Jon Snow as the heir to the North.

_"The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!"_

And when the battle had truly begun, the united Northern army was as fierce as direwolves. Mounted on war horses, they rode forth in their helm and armours to meet the Bolton army, with the Stark banner flapping in the wind and every bannerman ready to die for King, Princess, and country.

Lord Manderly had not been fighting in the battle of course, but he had watched from a safe distance as Jon and his bannermen rode forth to retake Winterfell and save his little sister Arya from the clutches of her tormentor. It had been a terrible but great battle. King Jon had been dark and terrifying, with his Valyrian steel sword and his great beast of an albino direwolf at his side.

Lord Manderly had never seen a warrior as great as he. King Jon had been so quick, so dauntless, so skilled with the blade. Dozens, half a hundred, and maybe even close to a thousand enemies fell from his sword. He had been terrifying and wild but almost mesmerising to watch, even as he was covered from head to foot with blood, gore, and mud.

But King Jon's battle call had been truly inspiring, born from a deep and honest love for his little sister: _"For Arya!"_

And the rest of the Northerners echoed this war cry with the same love and devotion for their fallen liege lord Ned and his precious little daughter: _"For Arya!"_

Many hours later, the Bolton army was soundly vanquished by a united Northern army under King Jon, as well as the late addition of the Vale army who arrived at the last moment. Winterfell was conquered by the sixteen year old new king, Ned's bastard, Jon Snow. The Bolton banner of the flayed man was cut down from the castle's grey granite walls and immediately replaced by the direwolf banner of the Starks.

After the castle had fallen, a war horn was blown to declare that it was safe for the rest of the Northerners to ride inside. Lord Manderly will never forget riding inside Winterfell's grey walls with the rest of the non-combatant lords and ladies, as well as a highborn contingent with the blue House Arryn banner who arrived even later than the Vale army. The sight that greeted them inside the courtyard had been chilling and he had clutched his horse's reigns tightly in his gloved hands.

King Jon had found the bastard Ramsay and he had his bare hands wrapped around his throat. Lying on the muddy snow with King Jon above him, Ramsay's face had been black with blood and blue with bruises, while his arms hung motionlessly on his sides as if both had been broken. King Jon's teeth had been bared like a feral direwolf as he squeezed the life out of Ramsay's throat.

And when Ramsay was dead, King Jon rose to his feet and angrily demanded: "Where is _Arya_?! Where is _my little sister_?!"

Lord Manderly had never been more afraid than at that moment. Ramsay had been terrifying but almost predictable in his cruelty. Seeing Jon so affected by the loss of his favourite sibling, he had been a witness to how love could make an honourable man into a monster.

There was no greater terror than that of a man whose unconditional love for his little sister was so great that a war would be raged and thousands would die from it - not to mention that the North would unite under one banner, a new king crowned, and Winterfell conquered from the Boltons.

And so it had been cruel when the truth had finally emerged. Because the Northern conspiracy had all been built on a _lie_  because the Boltons never had Jon's precious little sister Arya. Instead, they had a pretender - a Jeyne Poole who had been the steward's daughter.

Jon Snow had become the King in the North. He had claimed Winterfell. But his heart had been broken, as if someone had stolen Arya from him again.

_"I have a crown," King Jon had confessed to Lord Davos Seaworth, in a hoarse voice that had not been meant for Lord Manderly's ears. His back had been rigid as he stared at the face of the heart tree in the godswood. "I have Winterfell and the North. I have all these things that I have long desired. But she is still gone. Someone took her away from me. And every glory and honour I have now could never fill the hole she left behind."_

Much later, after Winterfell was firmly back under the Starks again, King Jon focused on the threat that loomed ever closer from beyond the Wall. The War with the Others brought forth new complications. King Jon had been adamant about the extensive preparations.

Lord Manderly had hosted the young man many times over in White Harbour. King Jon and his retinue had stayed the night in his castle before he journeyed by ship towards Dragonstone. He'd been there to give Jon his misgivings about the foreign queen with the dragons. He'd been disapproving about the Lannister imp's decision to hunt a wight and bring it back to Kings Landing, so as to gain more soldiers in the fight against the Others. He had even seen the captured wight later on after Jon had come back from beyond the Wall, saw its horrible rotting face and smelled its decaying flesh. The Others had been real, there was no longer any doubt about it.

When the War for the Dawn was on the horizon, Lord Manderly had stayed in White Harbour. He had not been the only lord who had chosen to remain home, to get ready to fight to the death against the Others when they would eventually find their way to the seat of their House.

He had sent forth a thousand men when King Jon rode to Winterfell with the Dragon Queen. The numbers swelled with the addition of the Unsullied and the Dothraki horde. From the rest of the North, in addition to the wildlings who were already set to fight, each House also sent forth hundreds of their fighters. From the South, the Vale and the Riverlands sent their own army, as they were bound by blood ties.

Surprisingly, each kingdom from the South had contributed as well: Theon and his fierce Ironborn fighters, the Reach and their flower knights as well as shipments of food, the Stormlands who sent forth soldiers because Stannis had been King Jon's ally, and even Dornish fighters who brought their own shipments of supplies. The greatest shock had been when Ser Jaime Lannister had gone North with a few of his best knights, ready to fight for a noble cause.

The rest of the Stark children had also come home. King Jon had been the first to come home of course, after he had retaken Winterfell through bloody conquest.

Lady Sansa Lannister had somehow slipped in during the same time, her hair dark and not auburn, as she rode with Littlefinger at her side. After she had fled the capital for the crime of Kingslaying King Joffrey, she had been hidden in the Vale where she had apparently been pretending to be _Alayne Stone_ , Littlefinger's bastard. With Littlefinger at her ear, it was plain to see that the snake was always whispering his schemes to her, as he sought to give her the seat of Winterfell - to make her the Queen despite the fact that she had long been disinherited by King Robb's will.

From beyond the Wall, Prince Bran came home with Lady Meera Reed at his side. From reports he'd heard, the boy had become so changed. He had been blessed by the Old Gods with greenseering and had become a wealth of information and wisdom, especially in their fight against the Others. He seemed to always be at the weirwood in the godswood of Winterfell, communing with the Old Gods.

Perhaps it was little Arya's return home that had lifted the Northern spirits the most for once upon a time, the North had united in her name. And when she rode forth towards Winterfell on the back of a giant grey direwolf and a great wolfpack army that was hundreds in number, it was taken as a sign that the Old Gods were truly on their side. The Northern Princesss was home at long last.

When the Others finally came, there were endless stories that Lord Manderly had heard later on. He had entertained each one, learned to discern the tall tales from the truth. But eventually, there were undeniable truths that emerged: that King Jon was a brilliant war tactician who masterminded the defense of the castle and had led the armies of the living against the dead. That the Dragon Queen had been awe-inspiring as she rode her dragon and assisted the North, and that King Jon had somehow been as great as her as he rode another dragon. The Dragon Queen and the King in the North had taken to the skies, mounting their dragons as they set fire to thousands of wights below.

The war had raged on for what had felt like days but no one could truly discern how long it had been for the _Long Night_ had begun with the arrival of the Others. War had raged and ravaged and took so many lives. And even the fallen became fodder as the leader of the Others - the Night King - had the ability to resurrect the dead and add them to his own undead army.

Many heroes emerged from that war, aside from King Jon and the Dragon Queen. There had been Lady Brienne of Tarth who had been knighted on the eve of battle. She had led her own army and fought beside Ser Jamie Lannister who was as valiant as her, especially as he just had one hand.

There had been the wildlings who were led by King Jon's most loyal man from beyond the Wall, Tormund Giantsbane. There had been the men from the Night's Watch whose watch had ended that night, especially the Lord Commander who had replaced Jon, Eddison Tollett.

There were also the fierce warriors from Bear Island - Ser Jorah Mormont who had died defending his love the Dragon Queen, and the young Little Bear Lyanna Mormont who had somehow been fighting during the siege and was told to have died slaying an undead giant.

But most surprising of all had been Princess Arya Stark. With King Jon flying in the sky on a dragon, she had been the Stark leader on the ground that the North looked to. She was there, an inspiring young girl flanked by the direwolves Ghost and Nymeria, while the rest of the wolfpack crowded around her.

In the beginning, all her efforts in the war had been based on her warging and skinchanging abilities like her brother Bran, but soon enough, as the wolves snarled and bared their fangs to the incoming wights, Arya had joined the fray as well. Surrounded by wights, she had been skilled with using a dragonglass staff. There had been many witnesses to see this - the warrior princess that she had become, a true daughter of the North.

Arya had disappeared for a time as the war raged on, but a few people heard stories that she had been chased by wights inside the castle and that Ser Sandor Clegane and a few men of the Brotherhood without Banners had gone to rescue her. A few men had even seen Stannis's red priestess giving Arya a chilling look as well as a mysterious prophecy. Hours later, as the Night King had killed almost all of Bran's protectors in the godswood with only a few remaining to defend him, just as he had been about to strike against Bran...

It was Princess Arya Stark who had assassinated the Night King with her Valyrian steel dagger, driving the blade deep into his heart and causing him to shatter into a million pieces of ice. Every white walker and wight, and even the blue undead dragon, fell shortly afterwards. The Long Night ended and the dawn came forth.

It had been a tale that had been so unbelievable but there had been numerous witnesses. Winterfell proclaimed Arya as its hero and there had been a celebration.

But somehow, before the rest of the North could arrive in Winterfell to see the daughter of the North - to thank her profusely and make sure that she knew how much the North loved her, she had disappeared with her army of wolves, only to resurface a moon later in the Battle of Kings Landing.

Wandering Wolf. Night Wolf. Young Wolf come again. Wolf Queen. These were all the things that they called her. But everyone agreed that Arya Stark was a true daughter of the North. Valiant Ned's daughter. King Jon's beloved little sister.

The aftermath of the Battle of Kings Landing had brought about the worst outcome possible for the North. Despite Lady Sansa Lannister being able to establish that the North remained independent as per King Robb's declaration of independence years prior, they had also lost three Starks.

Prince Bran, the trueborn heir of the North, would have been chosen as king if Jon had relinquished his crown after the wars. He was instead elected to become the King of the Six Kingdoms.

King Jon had slain the Dragon Queen after she had rained fire and blood on the city of Kings Landing, her brutality burning not only her enemy soldiers but also decimating thousands of innocent civilians. As a result, King Jon had been exiled North of the Wall due to the threat of war from what remained of the Dragon Queen's armies.

As for Princess Arya, she was supposed to be the new heir of the Northern throne according to both Robb's will and also Jon's, if the rumours were true. Instead, she had not gone back North again. No one seemed to have informed her of her status as the true heir. None of her siblings had stopped her when she had chosen to go on a suicidal mission to go over the Sunset Sea, from where no one had ever returned.

And when she disappeared West of Westeros, all of the North had mourned her again, knowing that she would never be seen again. There were always whispers of regret. How could they let her go? After saving humanity from the Others, she was just going to die. How could they not have made her feel welcome at home? Had she felt alone and unloved? Had her siblings not made her feel welcome? How could they have failed in letting her feel their love for her? She should have been the Queen as the will of two Kings dictated!

It had been the same for King Jon. How could he lose his place in the North after fighting so hard for it? He had died not only for Arya but had bled so much for the North. It was unfair that he lost his crown and to a majority of the North, he had never lost his crown despite his exile. Lady Sansa Lannister was merely a regent in his absence. One day, he will ride south of the Wall again and take his rightful place.

As for Lady Sansa Lannister, without anyone to contest her claim despite being disinherited by Robb's will, she had proclaimed herself as the Queen in the North. A few select bannermen had been there to celebrate with her but not all of the North supported her.

To most of the North, the support for the claimant of the crown was split - most supported King Jon still, while some felt that it was King Bran who should remain the heir with Sansa as his Regent or Warden. Some supported that Arya, with all her services to the North, should have been proclaimed as the Queen after Jon himself had chosen her as his heir. But it had been Queen Sansa Lannister who took the seat of Winterfell and the North in the end.

Under Queen Sansa Lannister's rule, the lords and ladies were very discerning of all her actions. The fact that the High Septon never granted her an annulment to Lord Tyrion Lannister had been noted, especially as Sansa had quickly married Lady Dustin's heir, the handsome young Lord Willam Dustin.

Sansa began to call herself a Stark again after that but everyone knew that it was not for true. Having a second husband only made her guilty in the Faith of the Seven of infidelity and adultery, although no one ever said this to her face. Despite the complications of her name and the fact that Lord Tyrion Lannister still had a claim to her and thereby a claim to the North, she was still Ned Stark's daughter so they all gave her respect and courtesy.

She did try her best as well, rebuilding Winterfell after war had ruined it yet again. She surrounded herself with loyal advisors and for the most part, she did not cause much contention. She was a master of courtesies, after all, always knowing what to say to keep her vassals happy.

The one thing that the Northerners could not abide by is how Southern she was. She was truly her mother's daughter, not just in her looks. But she was very Southern in other ways too - not like the Tullys but more like the Lannisters and Tyrells. Once in awhile, she would hold grand feasts that would drain resources and it seemed to be that she always sent ravens to Lord Manderly to ask for supplies and coin because he was the richest lord in all the land. Sometimes, he would grant her some silver but other times, he would rebuff her. Queen Sansa was not the best in numbers or running a household, and sometimes, she would not listen to her council or advisors.

The North was in great turmoil after the wars, its population decimated and the coffers of each House close to empty. Support from King Bran was the one thing that kept the North afloat but as Kings Landing was also rebuilding, this did not happen too often. It fell to Lord Manderly to be the greatest benefactor to the Northern crown. Sometimes, it was a good thing to show such loyalty to House Stark but this was often soured by the fact that it was not House Stark for true, but House Lannister. The Northern bannermen were aware that scrolls with the lion seal still came to Queen Sansa - she was still corresponding with her lord husband Tyrion.

The worst thing about the North's lack of coin was that support from outside was slowly dwindling. From Riverrun, her lord uncle Edmure Tully had stopped all support after Sansa had publicly humiliated him in front of the other high lords and ladies during the council meeting in Kings Landing.

From the Eyrie, her lord cousin Robert Arryn had also stopped donating from his coffers as soon as he married.

Even from Braavos, the North seemed to have been cut off from support that had been freely given during the war. Upon finding out that the crown had passed on to Sansa Lannister, the Iron Bank refused to deal with the North and the Sealord had decreed that its merchants should stop trading with White Harbour.

And now that the North was broken and penniless, the starving smallfolk rose against the highborn. And in turn, the Northern bannermen grumbled and groaned as Queen Sansa scrambled to keep the peace. The threat of an uprising always loomed on the horizon.

 _Queen Sansa the Barren,_ they called her, as she was without even an heir to show for her matrimonial indiscretions. _Queen Sansa the Regent_ , the kinder ones said.

But suddenly, out of nowhere, just like before, the mysterious Arya Stark was on her way home to the North. And as one, the Northern bannermen seemed to sigh in relief at the homecoming of the true heir. She had saved them all once, and there was no doubt that she could save them all again.

_The North remembers, and the mummer’s farce is almost done. The daughter of the North is home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Sorry this took longer to write and edit. This is the start of the second arc and it is going to be more political. It complies more with the ASOIAF books, which had fleshed out all the characters even the minor ones. I had to include many details that will tie with future chapters. And this has the book characterisations and plot. I’m giving back the rightful plots and characterisations to their true owners. Especially Jon dying and going to war for Arya! (Never mind that it’s fake!Arya.) Canon is so much better than the show’s version which wanted to wrongfully favour Sansa as some sort of victim that everyone felt sorry for. Not true! She was in the Vale, actually learning from Littlefinger as his student.  
> (2) The North is in turmoil! The war had truly done a number on them. I think this is quite realistic and the masses will always blame the person in charge, and every transgression is magnified.  
> (3) I plan to have more POVs later on so as to show the scope of the Northern conspiracy. I’m excited to get into the headspace of several great characters!  
> (4) We go back to Jon and Arya’s journey towards Castle Black next chapter.  
> (5) Thank you all for reading and supporting! It truly means a lot when I get to interact with you all. Please let me know what you think about this chapter.


	12. The Long Road South

**Tormund Giantsbane**

He woke an hour before the breaking of dawn. In the room that he shared with his youngest son Dryn, he rose and stretched, comforted by the soft sounds of his boy's breathing. He will let Dryn sleep as long as he could for they were to ride for as long as they could today, on their journey to Castle Black with Jon, Arya and the rest of their traveling party.

With a yawn, he went to the kitchen, bypassing the great hall. He was surprised to find his daughter Munda already there, weariness plain in the bags under her eyes as she put a kettle over the burning fire in the hearth.

"Good morrow, Father." Munda said. She looked over her shoulder and smiled at him before padding over to get some eggs from a basket.

"Up so early, my daughter?" Tormund said with a grin.

"An early start for you and Dryn. The boy will be grumpy if he isn't fed a proper meal before your long journey." Munda answered with a laugh.

"Aye," Tormund said. "He is a growing boy. Will you and your brother Toregg be fine with the running of the village in my absence?"

Munda gave him a stern look even as she grinned. "You doubt us, Father? With you being half-drunk all the time, we've been running this place from the start. Now sit down and save your strength for the journey ahead. You are not getting any younger, Father."

Tormund chuckled loudly, his voice a deep rumble. Mindful of his sleeping household, he immediately tried to quiet himself. He went to sit at a table, leaning back and closing his eyes. All the preparations for the journey have already been completed. The only thing to do now was wait for the rest of the party to arrive then strap on their things to their horses.

It was a bit surreal that he will be traveling down towards the Wall again after nearly three years. After he had crossed it with his family as well as Jon and the rest of the survivors of the war, he thought it would be the last time when he would see the great blue structure again. Or see the lands beyond it for that matter - the _North_ as Jon still insisted on calling it after all this time. 

He had vowed to Jon to deliver him to Kings Landing after the lad had informed him of his plans nearly two moons ago. Jon had hesitated in accepting his offer but Tormund had insisted. To him, Jon was now like one of his sons although he never said this out loud.

Tormund had once been in the running to become the King-beyond-the-Wall before being defeated by Mance Rayder. He'd been a famous free folk raider from Ruddy Hall who had four sons, Toregg, Torwynd, Dryn, and Dormund, and one daughter, Munda. The gods have taken two sons from him - Torwyn and Dormund - but over the years, he had gained other children. He had his good-daughter Karsi, his good-son Longspear Ryk, Jon of course who he saw as kin, but also other young orphans who fell under his care. He even had a little grandson, Little Ryk, who even at three years old, was looking to become a strong and brave lad.

And so Tormund felt loyalty to Jon Snow and by extension, his little sister-cousin too. But that did not mean that it was easy to stomach the things that were going on in their cabin. It was probably for the best that Jon had chosen to live so far away from the rest of the village.

Yes, Tormund _did_ know. All the hints were there when he had first discovered Arya hidden in Jon's room the morning after her return. The bruises on her pale legs as well as on her neck - unless Satin started liking girls, there was no mistaking who had been forceful with her as if she was being made into a spearwife.

Tormund felt queasy at the thought. He couldn't imagine what he'd do if any of his sons did that with his daughter Munda. But Jon was still from the South and had a different sort of morals to them. And, admittedly, it felt like what the Crow and the She-Wolf had was probably a corrupted form of true love, something so rare especially for them. It was more than skin deep.

With a tired sigh, Tormund recalled the day when he had confronted Jon about his suspicions.

_It was a three-day hunt in the Lands of Always Winter where Tormund insisted on hunting a bear, in addition to the reindeer that they always hunted for. It was a hunt only for the men this time as the women were left in charge of running and protecting the village. And so Tormund, his sons, and the rest of the village men had put on their thickest fur-lined winter clothes and rode northwards._

_Jon Snow had been antsy, Tormund had noted, as if he longed to go home the moment they left the village. Knowing the reason for it had made Tormund confront him later on, when they had been alone._

_"Tell it true, lad," Tormund said to him as Jon was busy looking for firewood in a wooded area full of pine trees. They had stopped to camp for the night after a full day of hunting. "What have you been doing to your little sister?"_

_Jon sucked in a breath, his wide eyes a dead giveaway. He was speechless._

_"So I was right then." Tormund said tiredly._

_"She is not my sister," Jon said, finding his voice. He looked so pained at his words. "She never was."_

_"Cousin then," Tormund said. "Cousin as you had revealed to me years ago. Kin."_

_"Yes," Jon said warily. He looked guarded but his hands had balled up into fists at his sides. "In a way. We are different clans, so to speak. Different Houses."_

_"But she was raised as your sister? Like Longspear Ryk and Ygritte?"_

_"What are you trying to get at?" Jon growled in barely-restrained anger._

_"You know what," Tormund hissed. Wary, he looked around to make sure that no one could hear them. "You're fucking your sister."_

_Jon looked enraged, his breathing shallow as it misted in the frigid air. His eyes were hard as his gloved hand touched the pommel to his sword. The level of vitriol shocked Tormund but did not surprise him. After all, Jon Snow had died for this sister, had risen from the dead for this sister, and had waged a war to save this sister and had become the King in the North in the process. There were songs about Jon's great love for his little sister Arya in the South._

_"Do you deny it?" Tormund said, his voice as soft as he could make it._

_"What of it?" Jon finally spat out. He looked like he was ready to fight Tormund, his dark eyes all in a rage._

_"You offend the gods," Tormund answered wearily, his whole body sagging as he suddenly felt so old. He had known this but to hear the truth from the Crow's mouth was difficult. "Why would you do that? You could have any woman you want and yet you decided to be a sister-fucker."_

_"Cousin," Jon insisted through gritted teeth. "I'm not a wildling despite living here. And if this is such a problem for you, then rest assured. Arya and I will be leaving the village soon. We will go beyond the Wall to Winterfell. Arya is to be the heir to the Northern crown. I plan to wed her."_

_"Marriage?" Tormund asked. He felt bewildered at finding this out. "You are to wed your kin?"_

_"Cousins have married each other for thousands of years," Jon said, his anger slowly fading away at the confusion on his face. "I suppose it's a difference in customs. South of the Wall, it is not at all an offence to the gods. And so, we must leave."_

_"Will you leave for ever?" Tormund asked. He felt a burst of fear at the revelation, a concern for the Crow. "Are you not in exile still? Won't you be harmed if you set foot beyond the Wall?"_

_"My cousin Bran the King has decreed a temporary release from my exile, until the time when the Southern Council can reconvene and make this release permanent. After stopping at Winterfell so that Arya could be proclaimed as the heir, we are to set forth for Kings Landing for this council to take place."_

_"And you weren't going to tell me this?" Tormund said, voice rising. "You riding South where danger lurks at every corner. You rode South a King once and came back exiled and heartsick."_

_"I was going to tell you but..." Jon said, trailing off. He looked forlorn now, and Tormund realised that he was still so young, as young as his own sons._

_"I suppose you think yourself in love with the She-Wolf," Tormund said. He sighed wearily at Jon's immediate nod. "She is easy on the eyes, I must admit. A Northern beauty. I'm not going to say anything to the rest of the villagers but you had better keep that secret safe, Crow. Not everyone will be as understanding as me. The free folk would never approve of whatever you're doing to your sister-cousin."_

_"Thank you," Jon said, releasing a breath he had been holding. "It is more than that though. I love her with all my heart."_

_"And does she love you the same?"_

_Without hesitation, he nodded. "She does. We are two hearts beating as one. Wars, seas, and years apart could never separate us. We were meant to be together."_

_"A grand statement," Tormund said. He said nothing for awhile as he ran his gloved hand over his thick beard, watching the smaller man thoughtfully. When he spoke again, it was full of conviction. "Then I must ride South with you, lad."_

_Jon blinked in surprise. "Why?"_

_"You are like a kin to me now too, sometimes even like a son," Tormund confessed. "You were in danger before, lad, and I hadn't been there for you in your Southron war. This time, I will remain by your side until you resolve all your troubles. Until you are released from exile." A thought occurred to him then and his lips split into a big grin. "Besides, the big woman will be there. She is my great love. To catch but a glimpse of her would be so sweet."_

_To that, Jon laughed all of a sudden and Tormund joined him, his own laughter rumbling and loud as it echoed through the fields of snow. From a distance away, the other men of the hunting party were giving them odd looks but Tormund didn't care._

_When Jon finished laughing, he looked more at ease. "You don't have to ride South with me but I will not be opposed. Thank you. And I hope Ser Brienne will look fondly at you this time around."_

_"Aye," Tormund said, with longing in his heart. "I hope so as well."_

Presently, Tormund opened his eyes as his daughter Munda set a cup of steaming hot coffee, three boiled eggs, and four buttered slices of bread in front of him. The barely-lit kitchen had lightened, colours becoming softer in the cool grey light of an upcoming sunrise.

"Take care of yourselves while you're away, Father." Munda said fondly.

Tormund looked up and met her eyes with a fond smile. He was ever-fortunate to have a daughter like her. "And you should take care of yourself as well, daughter."

***

**Jon Snow**

As the days dwindled down to their day of departure, a painful knot began to twist dully in the pit of Jon's stomach. It had been close to three moons since the day he had gotten Arya back, when she had been safe and warm in his arms after her long maiden voyage across the Sunset Sea. During their long days together of living their simple life in their secret mountain cabin in the True North, Jon had felt so blessed by the Old Gods. And although a part of him knew that their true destiny awaited on the other side of the Wall, another part of him wanted to keep his little sister tucked away from the rest of the world where no one would be able to cruelly take her away from him again.

 _Bride,_ Jon reminded himself fervently. _She is to be my bride very soon. My sister-wife, the way the Targaryen kings of old chose their queens._

And Jon was the last Taryargen, the same way that Arya was the last hope of the Starks to continue the old and powerful line of Winter Kings.

 _A marriage of the two oldest and most powerful families in all of Westeros,_  Jon thought.  _If logic would prevail, no one would dare oppose our union._

After the revelation of the summons, their days were filled with each other. They feasted on their all-consuming hunger for one another, as if it was a dark affliction that had festered for years and was finally set free to wreak havoc. They got to know each other again: their habits, likes, and dislikes. They've both changed so much, but one thing had not changed - _and will never change._  This was their unconditional love for each other.

The greatest development they had was how intensely carnal their relationship had become after their reunion, which Jon should be utterly horrified about, being her older brother and protector for so long. But truthfully, it made sense for this change to occur as if it was the next progression of their relationship and so Jon felt no regret whatsoever.

They have always been close. Even as children, they were openly physically affectionate to each other, probably kissing each other more than siblings usually did and sharing a bed as much as possible. It felt right for them to take the next step now that it was revealed that they were cousins, and the fact that Jon had Targaryen blood made his latent more-than-brotherly affections for Arya only natural.

They have also been busy with duties for the village, both of them acting as advisors to the combined leadership of Tormund the Chieftain and the council of elders. There were so many projects that were still in development that they would have to leave behind. Winter may still be a long time away but Jon and Arya were already arranging to utilise the village funds so as to begin the construction of glass gardens in the village. It would be a small one but would be beneficial for the farmers when the bitter winter came again.

Education was also a big part of their lives. They shared the gift of language to each other. He would teach her the Old Tongue while she would teach him High Valyrian and sometimes, even Braavosi. Jon made sure that she was being trained in politics as well. He eagerly shared with her the lessons of governing that he had gained from being Lord Commander of the Night's Watch then the King in the North. With Arya being the Heir of Winterfell, she should be ready to face the lords and ladies who would no doubt see her youth and aim to take advantage of her inexperience.

That was not to say that Arya was inexperienced, of course. She was far from that. Despite her reluctance in speaking too much about her feats, Jon was able to gather that she was actually trained in so many other things besides assassinating in Braavos. Aside from learning languages and being able to discern lies from truth, Arya was also taught world-class courtesies through her time as a courtesan apprentice.

She had also been afforded the gift of so much time to peruse great libraries where she was told to read as much as possible. She was able to read a lot of historical tomes and books about lore, poetry, and so many others, not just of Westeros and Braavos but those from all over the world. She had learned a great deal from sitting for many hours and just reading: about the Doom of Valyria, the Age of Heroes, the Century of Blood, and The Great Empire of Dawn.

In her travels across the Sunset Sea, she collected books from distant lands as well. Arya said that she had a lot more books in her ship but she had brought a few with her as well. They were written in High Valyrian and Arya was in the middle of translating them into the Common Tongue.

Arya learned a lot by observation too. She said that the _Black Pearl_ , who was the courtesan she had trained under, brought her to the Sealord's Palace many times where she was able to blend into the background and observe as the Sealord conducted his political, social, and personal affairs. She witnessed elaborate balls and feasts where he would host political leaders from all over, for Braavos was one of the most powerful cities of the world.

Sometimes, they even went to the Iron Bank where the _Black Pearl_ mingled with the most powerful and wealthy people from all over the world. Arya’s facade had been the smiling little mermaid who attended the famous courtesan, getting gifts of coin, treats, and sweets from men who were charmed by her. She would never say if they would touch or kiss her but Jon imagined that they probably did.

The thought that there were men like that angered Jon, but Arya assured him that they never would have harmed her because she knew how to take care of herself.

More recently, Arya had been in charge of her ship _The Night Wolf_. There was a captain who took command of the ship but she was the leader in command of its diverse people and their perilous mission. For nearly two years, she had managed the running of the ship’s crew and their finances as they difficultly drifted westwards then back eastwards again. She was the sole representative of Westeros when she met with foreign leaders, using her skills in language and courtesies, not to mention natural friendliness and willingness to mingle with all sorts of people.

Also, locally, she had become a great asset to the village as she helped out in the advising with her knowledge of the successful merchants from Braavos and her skills in numbers. Whenever people had problems, they also tended to approach her the same way they sometimes went to Jon. Arya, after all, was always friendly and willing to help others.

In their own home, Arya had become his true and equal partner. They shared all the burdens of their chores and duties, living off the land and the sea. They took great care of each other, nourished each other in so many ways, and spoiled each other so much. Jon cherished being the ever doting brother-cousin to her, making sure she would never want for anything despite having to live with him in exile. He longed for the day when she would become his bride for true, even though in his heart of hearts, she was already his wife - his _wildling spearwife_.

Again, studying for them never stopped. Jon and Arya made sure to study their copy of the annals of the North. They would test each other on all the Houses, sigils, and mottos. On a blank parchment, Arya would write down family hierarchies from memory. Both of them were curious if much and more have changed with regards to Northern House structures.

There were some nights when Jon and Arya would just lie in bed, poring over maps in old books. Jon would test Arya as they imagined wars and battles that could harm the North. Jon tested her knowledge on war formations and terms like 'pincer attack' and 'divide and conquer,' the best ways to defend the North from the South through the Neck, and what the North should do once the Wall finally melts away completely. Together, they thought of all the problems that the North could encounter and the best ways to solve them. Already, they were anticipating to see a great economic turmoil in Winterfell, especially after the North had been decimated so thoroughly by so many wars.

Arya was a very eager student and challenged him well with her questions and answers to his political scenarios. Just like when she was a child, she was very quick. Her life experience outside the safety of castle walls gave her an advantage as she knew the true cost of war: the suffering of the smallfolk because she lived for years as one of them. Many times, they would trail their fingers over maps, their hands as substitutes for their opposing imagined armies.

During the second moon after their reunion, Styr came back from Castle Black after visiting Satin. He had with him a parcel from King Bran, which had arrived in Castle Black weeks ago. Bran had sent them summer wine, strawberry jam, pickled salted olives, a wheel of quality cheese, milk soaps, books, and a shiny new  _Cyvasse_ game board.

Jon and Arya enjoyed themselves immensely whenever they played that strategic game. They spent many hours trying to best each other. And when they got too competitive, this led to tension that became something more, the board game forgotten and sometimes even knocked over as they immersed themselves in a passionate war between each other's needy bodies.

They were always busy with helping progress the village to become more modern. In the village, they had found a young skinchanger boy who they had tasked to be in charge of the ravens, while the Rookery would be a project for Tormund's good-son Longspear Ryk.

Arya had compiled most of the stories from the villagers that she had gathered from merely being friendly and speaking to everyone. Tirelessly, she worked on the history of the village, sometimes on the table in the solar or lying on her belly atop the furs in front of the roaring fire. Sometimes, she fell asleep that way and Jon would sigh at finding her like that. Carefully, he would lift her light body, cradling her sleeping form in his arms while he brought her to their bed.

There was a safety and security in sharing a home together. It was the best feeling in the world.

But as the days dwindled and the wolf pups grew, Jon started to feel homesick already and he knew that Arya felt the same way. Arya and Jon gave the pups names, but they weren't sure if the names would change one day. The pups will one day belong to their future children. For now, their names were: Vhagar for the grey girl, Ice for the albino boy with the red eyes, Dawn for the black boy, and Baelor for the reddish-brown boy. The pups were completely spoiled, not just by them but by the rest of the villagers too. Having new direwolf pups was seen as a good omen.

Soon the dreaded day finally came. Jon woke first, an hour before they were set to wake. Arya's head was lying on his chest and his arms were securely around her. Jon watched her young face and his heart melted. He inhaled the lovely scent of her hair, not wanting to disturb her for the travel up ahead was going to be long and daunting. He wished that the gods would hear the prayers in his heart: that Arya will always remain warm and safe in his arms no matter where they would end up.

And as Arya began to stir, Jon's heart broke a little as he knew he would have to let go of the security that they had built up in the near three moons that they had shared exclusively with one another.

It was time to leave their wildling home. The North was awaiting their homecoming.

***

Outside of Tormund's house where the village's great hall was, there were ten of them mounted on horses. The skies over the eastern mountains were tinged in red and orange, a promise of things yet to come. Beside him, riding atop Wayfarer, Arya had a guarded look but when their eyes met, she smiled at him immediately. Jon smiled back reassuringly, remembering the past day when they had been so busy in their preparations for the journey ahead.

Yesterday, they had emptied the house of all perishable food and had worked with Dryn and Munda to get the rest of their affairs in order - Dryn had taken their extra horse down to the village stables while Munda arranged for one of the village boys to come and check on their cabin once a week, to make sure that their garden wasn't too overgrown and that no one had taken their belongings from their house. Munda herself would check inside the house once a moon to clean out the dust and cobwebs. They had given her a hefty bag of coins for her troubles which she had refused until they had to force her to take it.

After a final cleaning of the house, they had gone to bed before sundown, resting their tired bodies. Arya had tucked her head beneath his neck as they held each other. They had fallen asleep not too long afterwards.

That morning, they woke early and Jon had bedded her with all his might, eager and full of want as he knew that they wouldn't have as much opportunities once the journey began. When they were done and had broken their fast, washed, and dressed, they headed outside.

Jon had locked the door to their cabin a final time with a heavy heart. When he turned around to face Arya, she was standing between the two garrons with tears in her eyes. It broke his heart and he'd gone to her immediately.

"What if this is a mistake? We don't need titles truly. In here, we could be free. We were so happy here. Being with you has been the happiest I've ever been in my life." Arya said unhappily. There was a clear sadness that shone in her eyes as she was speaking, causing a tremor of agony in Jon's heart.

"I feel the same way as you, but it must be done. You know this to be true." Jon said wearily. Gently, he cupped the back of her head and leaned down so he could kiss her all over her face. She was trembling in his arms, though he wasn't sure if it was from the bitter chill of the morn.

"Perhaps we could just sail away instead? Our ship is now docked in White Harbour. We could sail away to the east across the Narrow Sea and I could introduce you to Braavos. We could visit all the Free Cities of Essos. Or we could go west and I could show you all the islands of the Sunset Sea. We could find an island all to ourselves - a peaceful one, with all the sweet fruits, white beaches, waterfalls, and warm rain. You will be safe there."

"Arya," he said, breathing deeply. He looked deep into her eyes and saw her naked fear, something she would only ever show to him and not anyone else. With conviction, he said to her, "Arya, you are a Stark of Winterfell. The blood of Winter Kings runs through your veins. And the seat of Winterfell belongs to you by right. You are to be proclaimed the Heir of the North, my love. And I shall be next to you the entire time. I shall marry you and you will bear our sons and daughters."

Tentatively, at his words, Arya nodded. Her fear faded away, replaced with acceptance. She confessed to him, "I was always afraid. When I was away from you, I tried to be brave all the time. I acted it until sometimes I believed it. But inside, I was afraid. I confess that I am a little afraid even now."

Jon brushed her hair, which had been tied back in a Northern knot behind her head. "I was always afraid too. Even now, I fear for you, for us, and for our journey. We are but mortals, after all, despite what we've done in our lives. But we are stronger together than apart, never forget that."

Arya smiled fondly at him and pulled him down to kiss him slowly all over his face, from the scar upon his brow to the one below his eye, then all over his cheeks and chin. When she drew away, she looked truly lovely to him. She looked happy now, as if she was looking forward to an adventure they were going to share together for the first time. "I wish us good fortune in our journey, my love."

"Aye, may the gods bless us both." he said, smiling back gently. He leaned down and kissed her too, on the scar upon her own brow, the last of her tears, and finally a quick kiss on her lips.

Presently, the whole village had come out to wish them well. All had gathered, with furs wrapped around them in the chill of early morn as dawn was slowly breaking. Jon and Arya were in front while Tormund and Dryn were right behind them. The other riders that decided to accompany them were Styr of Thenn who was Satin's lover, a husband and wife warrior duo who had long been Tormund's followers from Ruddy Hall, Rickard Snow who still gave Arya annoyingly fond looks, Rickard's sister Donella, and one other Northman who still felt loyal to the Starks. Ten riders. And also, two adult direwolves, and four pups who were already the size of regular wolves.

There was a hum as they started to gallop off, shouts rising from the crowd of villagers. Their voices echoed through the valley: "Farewell! Jon Snow! Arya Stark! Safe travels! Come back soon!"

And as soon as they crossed the threshold of the village's entrance, a hundred pairs of eyes looked at them from the forest and the voices from the village was drowned out as hundreds of wolves howled together, so loudly like a thousand war horns.

And so they set forth towards the bright sunrise that was breaking over the eastern mountains, ten riders, six direwolves, and an army of wolves a hundred-strong.

***

They rode hard and fast the first day while their strength was still fresh. Their company with their wolf army trudged through the treacherous mountain pass that hid their village, through melting frost and the mud underneath.

As they descended on the other side of the mountains, sunshine greeted them in the valleys where fields of colourful wildflowers stretched on for many leagues. They rode with haste through the seemingly-boundless valleys of the Frostfangs, cool winds whipping on their faces. Their lips became chapped while their hair became wild.

Jon and Arya were in the lead, flanked by Ghost, Nymeria and the direwolf pups who were full of energy as they raced each other, while the rest of the wolves and riders trailed behind. A few times during the day, they would find themselves laughing as they too raced each other on horseback. As children, they had both been excellent riders and it was still true today. Sometimes Jon would win but Arya could outpace him other times too, a teasing grin on her lips every time she overtook him. She was sneaky and bonded well with her creature but Jon's biggest advantage was the fact that he knew these lands better than her.

Before the sun set that day, they made camp in a wooded area near a narrow stream where they would be hidden from the open expanse of the valleys of the Frostfangs. Five small canvas tents were erected and they were mostly divided two to a tent by kin as it was the best defense against the dangers of wife-stealing. In each tent it would be Tormund and his son Dryn, the married wildlings Gavin the trader and his fierce spearwife Brilga, the Snow siblings of Winter Town Rickard and Donella, Styr of Thenn and the Northern sellsword Alyn from Bear Island, and finally Jon and Arya in their own tent as well. Jon felt a surge of relief that he didn't have to explain wanting to share Arya's tent.

They all helped out with setting up the camp, sharing the tasks of building the tents, gathering wood, lighting the campfire, hunting, caring for the horses, scouting and cooking. Jon did the scouting while the youngest of the group, Arya and Dryn, took their bows and hunted for wild game.

Their supper that night consisted of roasted hare, sweet potatoes and bitter greens, washed down by ale and sweetened by the blueberry cakes that Old Wylla had given specifically to Arya before they departed that morning. The old woman had been a dear friend to Arya during the weeks that had gone by and as they whispered well-wishes to each other in the Old Tongue, tears welled up in their eyes. Jon hoped that it wouldn't be their final parting.

After an hour of song and laughter after supper, Jon and Arya were the first to retire to their tent. As Jon led Arya to the tent with a hand at the small of her back, from where he was sitting next to the fire, Tormund gave him a long-suffering look but thankfully made no comment. Drowning out the loud sounds of merrymaking outside their tent, Jon focused only on his betrothed as they removed their boots and went to lie down on the furs atop their cots.

Jon slowly unlaced Arya's riding leathers and pulled it off her legs with her smallclothes. Running a calloused hand up the inside of her thigh, Jon smiled down at her in the dim tent as she trembled beneath him, her breath catching in her throat. She was shivering though Jon wasn't sure if it was because of his touch or the cold outdoors. Their faces were lit only by the bright bonfire that shone against the side of their tent but Jon could see Arya's flushed face plain as day.

"We shouldn't." Arya said, biting her lip in a moment of uncertainty.

Jon smiled as he raised a brow. "Are you sure?"

His lovely she-wolf looked back at him, with fierce eyes and a wicked grin, hunger in her whole body as she pulled him closer with her skinny arms around his neck. When he bedded her that night under their fur-lined cloaks, Jon made sure to cover her mouth with a hand as he realised that she was quite loud and mouthy when his cock was buried so deeply inside her. With the rest of their company just outside the thin cloth walls of the tent, still chatting and laughing around the fire, it wouldn't do to let her howl. Jon lamented the fact that he was unable to enjoy hearing her passion for him that night. They've both been spoiled by the privacy of their cabin.

The days afterwards blended together as they made their way west towards Skirling Pass then the Fist of the First Men, and finally turned southwards to begin the long march through the dark Haunted Forest towards White Tree. The journey consisted of long days of riding, always ending at sundown by making camp, hunting, and bonfire nights full of camaraderie.

Jon tried harder to bond more with their comrades and not retire too early with Arya. There was a lot of conversation about what to expect when they were south of the Wall. Jon told them that they were all free to turn back around whenever they wanted but they were all vehement in their support for him. Evenings with their traveling party became more relaxed as they shared drinks, songs, and stories.

In turn, Arya was always soft after a good meal and strong wildling cider, leaning her head on his shoulder at first, then pressing herself against his chest as he wrapped his arm around her, then finally lying her head on his lap and dozing off in a way that would look like it was just a little sister craving her big brother's affection.

Most of their companions thought it was sweet of them based upon the smiles on their faces, but Tormund's face was always contorted with misgiving. Thankfully, he never said anything and for that Jon was grateful.

To keep their boundless affections to themselves, Jon and Arya sometimes conversed in High Valyrian.

 _"Avy jorrāelan."_ Arya would sometimes say to him out of the blue: as they rode together side by side, as they gathered firewood, and as they sat next to each other in front of the campfire.

To which Jon would repeat the same words with a warm smile on his face: the High Valyrian words for _I love you_. "Avy jorrāelan."

***

Conflict came to their group after a fortnight when raiders came upon them while they were camped out at the forest. The moon was still rising; it was only a few hours after sundown. They were all gathered around the bonfire, eating a supper of roasted pheasants, potatoes, mushrooms and parsnips. As they chatted, the direwolves and wolfpack were hunting deeper in the woods for their own meal.

They heard the raiders before they saw them: hoots, cries and war horns being blown in declaration of violent intent. The wildling warriors looked fierce as they appeared from the darkness. They surrounded them, looking wild and bloody in their skins and furs. They reeked, smelling as if they were unwashed.

There were approximately thirty of them or possibly more; their distinctive clothing identified them as the cannibalistic ice-river clansmen and women from the arctic wastelands north of the Frozen Shore. They had long matted auburn hair that they braided in warrior knots. Their harsh faces were painted in a reddish-brown colour like dried blood, their teeth were bared, and their voices were loud as they growled at them like wild animals. Hunger and desperation for food must have driven them to raid so far south.

Jon, Arya and the rest of their group were up immediately, turning their back from the bonfire, weapons drawn and at the ready. Among them, only Donella Snow from Winter Town was not a seasoned warrior although she did not hesitate to draw her own mace which her brother Rickard had been trying to train her in for years for her protection.

As the raiders were shouting their vicious war cries in the Old Tongue, Jon made sure to never leave Arya's side. The two opposing parties were upon each other instantly and for a heartbeat, Jon almost froze as the horrible memory of the Battle of the Bastards flashed through his mind: being stuck in the middle of so many bodies pressed together as he kept thrusting his sword through the soft flesh and hard boiled leather armour of soldiers that had the arms of the flayed man on their shields.

Only one thing drove him in that battle: the thought of Arya in a wedding dress and then in Ramsay Bolton’s bed, trapped in her own childhood home with a known torturous monster and with only Jon as her hope for salvation.

But this was not that battle and Jon hastily tried to separate his old memories from this present battle, aware that Arya was here next to him, safe so long as he could protect her.

When the raiders had closed in on them, slashing at all of them with clubs, stone axes, rusty swords, and bone spears, Jon shuddered and gritted his teeth. The sharp tang of blood clung to their stained clothes, long matted auburn hair, and horrible breaths. Jon thrust his sword at each wildling that dared to come close, his skin crawling each time he felt their bodies pressing close enough to him.

Against him, two fell immediately as they attacked him with a spear and an axe. Jon was too quick for them and far too skilled against their wild movements. And yet, they were still fierce and terrifying as they were all outnumbered. Worst still, the wildling men were immediately drawn to the female in their group: Donella Snow, Brilga the wildling spearwife, and his little sister Arya.

Jon’s blood ran black as he became mad with fury when he saw that four men had surrounded Arya. She was holding her own with her quick waterdancing skills but they were so much bigger than her. One of the men fell when Arya thrust Needle's tip through their throat, a fine rain of blood spilling out as the man choked, his eyes rolling back as he fell.

Jon went to assist Arya, feeling enraged as he saw two men grab harshly at her arms as she was distracted with another wildling. With a wild hysterical strength, the two wildlings immediately fell from quick thrusts of Jon's sword to their side and stomach, his actions and movements fluid, honed by war experience.

From then on, Jon fought even closer to Arya. He was always aware of Arya next to him, fighting with Needle clasped tightly in her hand; she was swift, deadly, and unafraid. Not for the first time, it gave him relief, pride, and admiration that Arya had become such a fierce warrior-princess who was like her wolf-queen Nymeria and not a fussy dainty lady trapped in a tower.

Together, as Ghost and Nymeria emerged from the forest to join the fray and fight by their sides, they found a rhythm with a deadly dance of combined strikes against their enemies. Jon and Arya attacked together, shielded each other, and were back to back sometimes so that they could guard each other's blind sides.

But as the battle raged on, their enemies cruelly shouted the Old Tongue word for _"fire"_ \- and suddenly, all their tents were set ablaze. The entire camp was burning in a sea of red and orange, while the cries of people echoed in the night. Long dark shadows danced on the ground as they all fought, steel against steel ringing. Flames ripped through the cloth tents, tendrils of smoke reaching up through the green foliage of the forest trees. The horses panicked where they had been tied at the outskirts, squealing as they tried to run off into the darkness.

Jon's stomach plummeted as he worried about their things - were all their things inside the tents? He couldn't remember anything right now, not as a hulking wildling clansman slashed at him with a shout, his wild auburn hair smelling like a dead animal. Jon hissed as his left arm was cut by the blade of a short sword but he recovered quickly, parrying the next blow and quickly driving Longclaw through the man's heart, so deeply that the blade went through the wildling's back.

But even as enemies fell, they were getting swarmed because more men were drawn to the women. Jon did a quick survey as he pulled Longclaw from the man's body. Rickard Snow was bravely defending his older sister Donella who was trying to do her best to fight with her mace, but two men were pulling at her clothes with laughter. The wildling husband and wife duo Gavin and Brilga were doing much better, both skilled with their spears and shields. Styr, Alyn, Tormund, and Dryn were also busy with a horde of their enemies, weapons drawn as they fought skillfully for their lives. Closer to him, Ghost and Nymeria were ripping through a man each, their bloody teeth bared.

When Jon turned to Arya, she was surrounded yet again, with three men trying to snatch her away with dark intent in their eyes even as she fought them with competence. Enraged, Jon pushed them back with a wide violent arc of a slash from Longclaw, a rain of blood misting out from wide gashing wounds to their stomachs. And as he did, Arya’s hand touched his waist gently as her eyes closed for a heartbeat. In her mind, he knew she was calling out to the rest of the wolves. Soon after, they heard the frightening howl of the wolf army.

Ghost and Nymeria's pack came forth from the darkness of the forest from where they had been hunting. With bared teeth and deep growls, they flew towards the raiders in a rage. The sound of bones crunching and the sight of flesh torn apart and blood spilling from deep wounds was ghastly. Soon, only half of the raiders remained. They looked frightened of the wolf army, muttering to each other and making hand gestures on their heads as if to ward off evil spirits. As one, they retreated back into the darkness in haste, leaving their fallen comrades behind.

It had been a horrible but quick battle and their own group hadn’t been spared from injuries. The wolf army surrounded their camp protectively as they tended to the injured - mostly, it was gashes and cuts, as well as bumps and bruises. The worst of it was their fallen camp, the loss of the tents that burned so quickly.

Still wary of danger, Jon tentatively wiped and sheathed Longclaw before immediately looking Arya over. With careful movements, he trailed his hands across almost every inch of her - from her face to the rest of her body as he tried to find any tears in her clothes. But she just shook her head as she did the same to him, checking for any injuries as well.

There was a bump on her head, a small wound on her right hand, and she hissed when he touched her arms. The raiders had been rough with her as they had tried to steal her away. The thought that they tried to take her away from him to rape her left him feeling queasy and the monster inside him raged, thirsty for blood. All of a sudden, he wanted to ride towards the rest of the raiders, so he could kill every last one of them.

”You’re bleeding.” Arya said, her voice gentle and full of concern. Her hand hovered over his arm. She bit her lip and drew away to pick up a wine skin full of ale close to the bonfire, ignoring the bodies that littered the ground.

Jon’s heart stilled as he watched her, slowly becoming calmer as she went to him to clean the bleeding cut on his left arm, which was close to his wrist. She pulled a salve from her pocket and lathered it on his open wound then kissed it gently. His face contorted as she tore the bottom hem of her old tunic into strips, using it to wrap around his wound. Her actions were swift and precise as he was bandaged quickly.

The demon in him faded away and at that moment, he longed only to sweep her off her feet and hide her away in a safe place.

Instead, Jon washed and cleaned the wound on her right hand and the small gash on her left upper arm. He used her pain relieving salve on it, then bandaged it with the spare strips from her torn tunic. He pulled her bandaged hand against his lips and kissed her, wishing he could do more.

"Are you well, little sister?" Jon whispered in worry for her as he ran his hands through her rumpled hair so as to fix it.

Arya looked surprised at his words, making him realise that he hadn’t called her _'little sister'_  in weeks. She smiled gently at him, leaning into his touch. "I'm well, big brother," she said, meaning the words that made his heart sing. Despite everything they were now to each other, it was always good to be reminded that their foundation of being each other's favourite siblings had never disappeared. "Are you well?"

Jon nodded gravely. "I am. But we are no longer safe here."

Almost reluctantly, they turned to the carnage around them.

Seven of their enemies lay at their feet and the rest of their enemies' bodies were around their travel party.

Dryn was bandaging his father Tormund’s outer thigh because of a gash that sprouted blood, soaking through his suede riding breeches. Donella Snow looked ashen as she stared at the bloody carnage of the camp with wide fearful eyes, her hands shaking as she still held her mace. Her riding clothes looked rumpled and torn, as the men had tried to kidnap her as well. The wildling couple had purple bruises on the sides of their faces, but no other injuries were visible. It was the Northmen Rickard and Alyn and the wildling Styr of Thenn who checked on the bodies, making sure that they no longer posed any danger.

Closer to the line of wolves that now surrounded their camp, Ghost was sniffing at the pups who looked excited by all the commotion while Nymeria did a perimeter check. After it was clear that there was no more danger, the wolf-queen raised her snout high in the air towards the bright moon above the trees and howled. And as one, the rest of the pack answered, all of them howling loudly as one.

When the adrenaline died down, a great relief finally came over Jon. The battle had been sudden and had ended just as quickly, but it had given him a high as well. He had never been in a true battle with Arya before. They had always been apart during the War for the Dawn in Winterfell, because he had assumed that she would have been safely hidden in the crypts. Today, they had fought so well together - they were brilliant at being a deadly combination. It pleased him that they were so attuned to each other even in battle as if they were merely finishing each other’s sentences.

As Arya went around to make sure to take care of everyone’s injuries with her little pack of salves and tonics, Jon helped out with moving the bodies into a pile. They burned the corpses immediately, in the wildling way. The smell of the burning bodies stirred in him the horrible memory of the Battle of Kings Landing and he knew that Arya had these same thoughts in her mind. A grim mood settled upon them both as they helped out in trying to salvage what remained of their camp.

As one, their group surveyed their remaining things as Arya and Dryn tried to calm the horses. Jon went to the tent he shared with Arya and found nothing but scorched cloth and ashes. After a quick search around the camp though, he was thankful to find that their pack of clothes, as well as other supplies were instead around the campfire that still burned calmly and innocently, and had not been inside the ruined tents.

With a quick vote, they all decided to move camp even so late at night. They were a few hours away from a small market town so they packed up and rode there immediately, a pack of weary humans, horses, and wolves running like the wind in the dark of night with only the bright quarter moon to light their way.

They arrived at a small shabby inn close to dawn and rented five small rooms, the room arrangements similar to their tent pairings. With weariness, it was decided that it was best to have a day of rest before resuming their trip on the morrow.

In the weak light of dawn after they retired to their room, Jon gently undressed Arya as she did the same to him. His heart sank at seeing all the bruises on her body. Dark purple finger-shaped marks littered her arms and legs, as well as her sides and back. Men had tried to steal her away from him, with evil intentions in their hearts. Jon kissed each bruise and wound he could find as he took her to bed. And in turn, Arya kissed all his cuts and bruises, as well as the old scars from his black brothers, her lips lingering on the scar upon his heart.

***

**Satin Flowers**

Under a lamp light, as it was still so dark at the Rookery because dawn was just about to break, Satin squinted as he read the letter that arrived from the Southern capital, with King Bran's direwolf-crow seal.

_Satin Flowers,_

_Greetings. As always, I am in your debt for the services you have rendered not only to me but to Jon and Arya as well. I write to you now because things will soon be changing in Castle Black. By now, knights from all over the realm have already started to arrive there, like I told you from a previous letter. An announcement about the fate of the Night's Watch will be given by envoys from both my kingdom and Queen Sansa's. They will be joined by the child King-beyond-the-Wall Aemon Steelsong, son of Mance Rayder, who will be accompanied by his aunt, the Regent Queen Val and her husband Gerrick Kingsblood._

_Soon, lords and ladies will be there as well, so as to eagerly greet Jon and Arya. I have seen movement from all over the North. Things have been set in motion from all directions that even I could no longer stop. My sister's arrival from her voyage has shifted the balance. I ask you now to please join their company as they move onward from Castle Black to Winterfell. Among all of their allies, you are the one I can trust the most because we have been in correspondence for a long time. With the North in great political turmoil, we will need our true friends next to us._

_Furthermore, please be ready to accept a few more people from the capital. To accompany Jon to the Red Keep, for his protection, I have sent forth Lord Davos Seaworth of Dragonstone, Grand Maester Samwell Tarly of Horn Hill, Ser Podrick Payne of the Kings Guard, and Lord Edric Dayne of Starfall. They have voyaged by sea to White Harbour on a ship called the Myraham. They are on the Kings Road now and will arrive in Castle Black in less than a fortnight. These men are trustworthy._

_Take care of yourself and please take care of Jon as you have always done, and my sister Arya as well._

_Thank you for being a great friend to my family._

_Bran Stark_  
_King of the Six Kingdoms_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) I'm so sorry for the long wait for this fic. I've been actively writing but I think I wrote far too much (someone stop me lol). The chapter I was about to post was almost 20K words in total. So I cut it in half, and even had to cut off too much smutty bits that I'll just have to post as a separate side story later on lol. I am editing the second half and will post the rest this weekend.  
> (2) Thank you for all the readers, commenters and supporters! You mean a lot to me and I enjoy talking to you all.  
> (3) I'm afraid I couldn't top my last chapter. That was quite intense. This is the voyage now. And I had to touch on a few things that I didn't want to ignore like Jon teaching Arya to have a more political mind, and Tormund's hopefully realistic reaction to them as a couple.


	13. To Castle Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit shenanigans ahead.

After their tents were lost due to the fires that had razed their camp during the raid, Jon was frustrated that he and Arya no longer had the privacy of a tent. During their first travel day after their stay at the shabby inn, when they made camp, Jon and Arya tried to keep a respectable sibling distance as they slept - which lasted all of half a night.

They tried their very best but hours after restlessly shifting back and forth apart from each other, Arya mumbled in annoyance then went to lie next to him. Spreading her cloak on top of his, she pressed herself against his body as she buried herself under their cloaks so that he could hold her from behind.

Tormund looked concerned at first as he stared at them from under his own cloak, but soon grew to ignore them because they didn't do anything dubious under his watchful eyes. The rest of their traveling party seemed to only see a little sister needing warmth from her big brother because of the bitter frost of the night, and thought nothing of it. Even Dryn stayed close to his father because he still had the skinny form of a boy and so felt the cold more easily.

That was not to say that Jon and Arya were entirely innocent under their cloaks as they lay together close to the campfire like everyone else. When the rest of their companions began to drift off in slumber, Jon would slip his hand underneath Arya's breeches and smallclothes, gently playing with her clit so as to get her wet and then pushing a finger inside her slippery slit.

In turn, Arya would push her rear back against his hardness as she buried her moans against his arm, sometimes even biting him in her frustration. They would play a wicked game underneath their cloaks, keeping still and holding their breaths every time they heard someone shifting or mumbling in their sleep.

Arya turned around and forced her small hand inside his clothes as well so that she could play with his aroused cock. She moved her fingers up and down the length, her thumb swiping against the protruding veins as she did so.

But they couldn’t truly go all the way, couldn’t reach their peak as they were restricted by the limitations of what they were allowed to do out in the open. And it frustrated them both completely.

As Arya groaned softly and turned back around to face away from him, Jon resorted to his imagination as he held on to Arya from behind.

In his mind, he imagined pushing Arya's breeches and smallclothes down her hips then opening his breeches to pull his stiff cock out. Quietly and so carefully as they lay on their sides, Jon imagined fucking her under their cloaks, with eight people around them none the wiser about what they were up to.

It would have been one of the best feats they would have achieved together in their long and very detailed list of sexual adventures. Each terrifying second would have heightened their arousal.

The only consolation was being able to escape to the wolf dreams, where Ghost and Nymeria were free to run and hunt, their mouths filled with the blood and flesh of their prey.

And when Ghost tried to mount Nymeria afterwards, Jon knew that Arya felt it the way Nymeria did, when she was knotted by her direwolf brother’s cock.

Not for the first time, when Jon woke later with a wet patch in front of his smallclothes and Arya shuddering in his arms in the aftermath of the dream they shared, he was amazed at their bond.

What they had wasn’t only skin deep, or conventional in any way. Their souls were connected even through their direwolves, through an ancient magic gifted to them by the Old Gods. They were soulmates and were always meant to be together.

***

The final full stop they had was White Tree, which was only a few days ride away from Castle Black.

Even from a distance, the enormous old weirwood could be seen looming over the tiny village. Its white skeleton branches rose up skyward and its red foliage of leaves was like a beacon in the surrounding colours of greens and browns.

Jon couldn't help but recall the first time he went to this village. He was probably only fifteen or sixteen when he accompanied Lord Commander Jeor Mormont during ranging, close to Arya's age now.

The village consisted of four tumbledown one-room houses, which surrounded a sheepfold and a well. The houses were constructed of unmortared stone and were roofed with sod. The windows were shuttered with pieces of hide, low doors, packed dirt floors, and a smoke hole in the roof. And the village had been eerily empty, with not even a sheep in sight.

Jon would never forget seeing the great heart tree that stood like a sentinel in the middle of the village. Its trunk was nearly eight feet wide and its branches shaded the village. The jagged mouth of the heart tree's carved face was a large enough to swallow a sheep. It was the biggest weirwood he had ever seen in his life and inside the hollow of its horrible mouth, he had found burnt bones.

He shuddered at the memory but then startled when he felt a small hand reaching for his own. Looking up, Jon met Arya's concerned eyes. The heavy thud of his heart stilled, calming at her presence and reassuring smile. Jon squeezed her hand and smiled back.

Around them, everyone else had dismounted their horses as well and were walking slowly into the village with exhaustion. It had been a long march from their village to this one and they were thankful that the end of the first leg of the journey was near.

Two stableboys ran to them with eager grins, grubby hands ready for some coin. Jon handed a few coins to his former page Dryn and let him handle the transaction as their horses were led to a newly-constructed stable close to the north entrance of the village.

Further inside the village, there had been a lot of other changes. What was once empty a long time ago was now bustling with wildling from every walk of life, clans mixed together and coexisting peacefully. There were even Northerners and two familiar rangers of the Night's Watch, the latter ones trying to avoid Jon's eyes.

Ten more houses had been constructed, and there was a small market a distance away from the weirwood tree, closer to the south entrance of the village. The merchants consisted of a mix of free folk and Northerners, just like in the markets up north. It had become one of the many village stops along the new trading route that connected the Kings Road to the market towns of the True North.

Nearer to the heart tree, a large inn had been recently constructed as well. It was a longhall made out of timber, with small rooms that they shared two to a room as usual. They rented their rooms for the night then agreed to meet for supper at the central hall.

Jon ordered a bath to be brought to the room he shared with Arya and they spent a long afternoon washing each other unhurriedly, stifling their laughter as they luxuriated in the suds. They were mindful of fading bruises and healing wounds, just happy and relieved to be so close together and _safe_.

Clean and relaxed from the hot water, they went to the lumpy feather bed and leisurely explored each other's bodies with their fingers and lips, smiling at each other as they lay on their sides.

Jon ran his hands down the sensitive skin of her sides, marveling at how small her waist was. She shivered under his touch but hid her smile on his shoulder as she too touched him, running a finger down the center line of his chest and slowly caressing the hard muscles of his abdomen. She paused only briefly at the trail of hair that started below his navel, biting her lip. And then she looked up into his eyes as she wrapped her small hand around his cock, which was still soft as it nestled between his legs.

He pulled her tight against his body and pressed his lips against hers, gently but firmly at the same time. As their tongues met, his cock started to harden in her palm. He trailed his lips down from hers, kissing her jaw then her neck, sucking lightly at a gentle pulse. His hand went around her hips and grasped the curve of her rear, squeezing it and making her moan. The sound made him sigh contentedly.

Soon, she was playing with the head of his cock, spreading the liquid gathered at the tip and pulling the foreskin back so that she could rub the moisture around the sensitive glans. Jon pulled away and watched her. She had an excited look in her eyes as she began to stroke him the way he liked. She only paused to lick her hand so as to make the slide of her hand more slippery against his cock, then went back to it immediately.

While she was busy, Jon leaned down and took a small pale breast inside his mouth, licking at the sensitive nipple while suckling. Arya moaned, breath catching in her throat and making him smile. As he did this, his hand trailed down and cupped her pretty cunt, thumb swiping at her nub in a teasing motion. She was already very slippery around her folds.

Arya gasped and paused in stroking him. With a chuckle, Jon pulled his mouth away from her breast and his hand from her cunt. She glanced up at him heatedly at the loss of pleasure, looking like she was about to clout him on the ears.

Taking matters into her own hands, she sat up and pushed him down on the bed. She straddled his thighs, looking the very picture of an enchantress with her long wet hair and a wicked grin on her lips. Eagerly, she pressed her slippery folds against the length of his cock and began thrusting her hips forwards and backwards, giving both of them pleasure as their aroused intimate parts rubbed wetly against each other.

Jon leaned back, awed at watching her move above him. Her small breasts were bouncing with each movement and her eyes were half-lidded as she lost herself in her pleasure. Only one word kept escaping her lips with throaty moans.

”Jon,” she cried as she fell forward, thrusting in a way that provided more friction to her needy clit. Her breath was so hot in his ear as she kept saying his name like a prayer. “Jon, Jon, Jon—” On and on until she paused with a shudder and a throaty moan, trembling in his arms as she collapsed on top of him, her whole slender body heaving as she tried to catch her breath after a fierce orgasm.

Jon rolled them over so that he was on top then flipped her over, manhandling her small body easily so that she was on all fours. He pressed her head down and canted her arse up, pulling her legs wide apart so that he could see her pretty little slit trembling in need for him. He never tired of ogling her delicate pink insides which was currently dripping with her lovely slick. His cock twitched and he felt almost dizzy at the rush of arousal that he felt.

”Did I ever tell you that you have such a pretty cunt?” Jon asked cheekily.

”All the time.” she answered, laughter in her voice.

Arya looked behind her and their eyes met. Her face was flushed as he licked his lips meaningfully. She couldn’t help it if she tried - couldn’t contain the cry that escaped her when he buried his face between her legs and licked her lovely center, running the tip of his tongue from the soft mound at the front, against the gentle curve of her swollen nub, and through the wet delicious folds around her slit.

Below him, Arya buried her face on a pillow, screaming into it so that no one could hear her needy pleas outside their room. With a satisfied smirk, Jon parted her folds with his calloused thumbs and pushed his tongue in with force. Arya’s scent and flavour here was his most favourite thing in the world and he feasted on her like a man starving. Arya was sobbing below him as he started thrusting his tongue in and out of her tight passage, the pleasure overwhelming her.

For the first time in their journey, they were probably too loud in their bedding but at the moment, Jon couldn’t find it in himself to care. It felt like it had been a lifetime since he’s had her this way. All he craved was to pleasure his mate, with his tongue buried so deeply inside his little sister-bride’s cunt.

Jon reached down to squeeze his cock as he kept fucking her. He could almost come at just consuming her essence. But Jon held himself back as best as he could. Roughly, he held her by the hips as he began to pull her body forwards and backwards in a rhythm, truly fucking her now with his tongue.

”No, I want _you_ ,” Arya whined from below, voice muffled by a pillow. Her cunt was so tight, quivering at the overwhelming pleasure. “Your cock, Jon. I _need_ it.”

Her throaty plea sent a jolt of arousal straight to him, making his cock twitch. Unable to deny her anything, Jon pulled his tongue out of her, licking his lips afterwards. He drew away to stand at the side of the bed, then pulled her legs back so that she was at the edge of the bed in front of him. Arya was on all fours, in her favourite _she-wolf_ position, when Jon pressed the blunt tip of his manhood against her slippery entrance, the head pressing in but not entering completely. He paused.

”I love you, Arya.” Jon said to her, meaning it with all his heart.

Arya looked over her shoulder and smiled at him with love and honestly. “I love you too, Jon.”

Warmth flooded him immediately and he beamed down at her in happiness.

As he thrust his hips forward and buried his manhood deep inside her, stretching her narrow passage with his girth, Jon bent forward and captured her lips with his. Her loud moan was swallowed inside his mouth, and he realised that he missed hearing the loud cries and moans that she only reserved for him.

Jon kept thrusting inside her and kissing her and Arya answered back, just as eager as she thrusted back and kissed back just as fiercely. Both of them were like alpha wolves, like true mates whose bodies were howling for each other. Beneath their bodies, the feral call of their wolf blood flowed from their hearts, urging them to mate like the animals they were inside.

It must have been an hour or maybe just minutes but when Arya came, she was shaking beneath him. She parted from their kiss with a gasp then moaned as her whole body became as tight as a bowstring. Jon straightened up, gaining leverage as he concentrated only on the thrusting of his hips, trying now to reach his own elusive orgasm.

As Arya’s cunt was quivering around his cock as she was at the tail end of her climax, Jon bit back a low guttural sound that was half-moan and half-growl, something that would make the wolves proud.

He pulled out of her right before his balls tightened and as he came with a deep groan, his seed spilled in hot ribbons, splashing across the pale skin that stretched delicately over the bones of Arya's slim back. Her back arched at feeling his seed, and he marveled at seeing the bones of her spine protruding against her back, at the beautiful wings of her shoulder blades shifting each time she breathed.

Jon felt a rush of post-coital bliss as he collapsed next to her body, both of them panting against the furs underneath them. Their eyes met, smiling and understanding each other even without words. Jon reached out to wipe his seed off from her back with his hand but was instead making even more of a mess.

Laughing, Arya went closer to him so that their shoulders were touching. She pressed close, mouth hovering over his. Jon closed the distance between them, ready to kiss her, but Arya only nuzzled his nose with hers. With a teasing grin, she pulled away and went back to the tub to wash herself again. Jon groaned, fooled by her jape but loving her even more for it.

Her back truly was a sight from where he was ogling her from the bed. Her body was small and slender but beautiful and strong too.

"How cruel you are, my Northern Princess." Jon teased with an amused smile.

Arya looked back over her shoulder with an impish grin, her messy hair somehow making her even more radiant. "As are you, my Dragon Prince."

***

That night, Dryn wouldn't meet their eyes at all during supper. Tormund kept japing with him, teasing him about this or that but when he mentioned getting him a woman, Dryn’s eyes had widened. Dryn looked over to them all of a sudden before his whole face flushed, becoming as red as his fiery red hair. He looked away hastily.

Arya leaned over to whisper in Jon’s ear. With a knowing look, she said, "Dryn knows now too."

Jon's brows rose in dismay and disbelief, wondering if Dryn had been listening at the door when he and Arya had been busy in their room earlier. He was instantly worried, wondering how he should speak to the boy later on.

"Don't worry about him," Arya said, still whispering. "He won't say anything."

"How are you so sure?" Jon asked skeptically.

"Dryn may be a wildling but he grew up all over the place too, just like me. He grew up in the North as well. He grew up seeing that cousins being married was normal, despite what his elders taught him beyond the Wall."

"Good point." Jon said, relaxing a little. They would still have to talk to him though.

"Jon?" Arya said, sounding tentative. "Could we do something together after supper?"

"What? Again?" Jon asked in disbelief, even as he felt a rush of want for her.

"No, not that, crazy dragon-wolf." Arya said, grinning at him. She became more serious as she said, "Do you want to pray with me at the weirwood tonight? Like we used to pray in the godswood as children. Or at the hidden heart tree that we found in the Frostfangs after we reunited."

Jon nodded solemnly. He will need guidance and mercy from the Old Gods soon, as they cross the Wall and go southwards.

Arya once said that she had prayed in many a godswood after she left Winterfell. She had prayed for Bran in Kings Landing with their lord father. She had prayed for strength in Harrenhal. She said that even as she sailed over the Narrow Sea, she wanted to look for a godswood in Braavos. Whether or not she found one in that great city, she never did say.

That night, they held vigil in front of the massive weirwood of White Tree, praying together to the Old Gods.

In his early childhood, Jon's adoptive lord father Eddard Stark had always taken him and Robb to the godswood when they were still very small. The Faith of the Seven was introduced to him too, through Maester Luwin, but they had never been his gods. It was the Old Gods that he had confessed to when he had been hurt and lonely, it was them who had listened to a little boy's prayer.

It was the Old Gods who had given him Arya, when he thought that no one would ever love him for true - not his lord father, or his unknown mother, and not even Robb. When Arya was born, she had loved him from the start. Even as a babe, they were drawn to each other. She was the only one who truly made him happy - more than making him smile, or causing him to laugh. She had loved him unconditionally and had belonged in his heart of hearts from the start.

When Arya was old enough to be taken to the godswood for prayer, Jon made sure to share his enthusiasm for the Old Gods. As Jon, Robb, Sansa and little Arya accompanied Lord Eddard to the godswood for prayer, his little sister grew to become patient and not fall asleep too soon during the long vigil - to learn to love the Old Gods as much as Jon did.

Presently, Jon prayed for courage to face what was waiting for them south of the Wall. Undoubtedly, there will be scheming lords who will try to take advantage of his former status as the King and Arya's name as a Stark. Perhaps even Sansa was planning something else besides naming Arya her heir.

Jon prayed for safety as well. He prayed for strength and even forgiveness for old sins, for all the loved ones they had lost and had not been able to save. Most importantly, he prayed that he and Arya would always remain together, full of love and warmth - no more fear, no more danger, and no more distance or death to separate them.

Arya's sudden gasp beside him caused him to open his eyes in worry. Jon looked around warily, wondering if there was anyone else there who may pose a threat to them. He only saw Ghost, Nymeria and the pups a distance away, guarding over them with loyalty. He glanced back at Arya, trying to see what was wrong.

She was looking up at him with wide eyes.

"What is it?" Jon asked.

"I thought I heard Father's voice." she said hesitantly. There was trepidation in her grey eyes as she said this.

Jon reached for her hand and held it tight inside his own. He smiled down at her gently. "You can tell me."

Arya told him first about her time in Harrenhal when she had been a prisoner. Jon had only heard vague tales about the place but knew she had seen a lot of horrific things there. She confessed now about how powerless she had been, how she had had to become someone else just to survive. With weariness, she said that the things she saw there would be too painful to say out loud. Instead, she told him that she had found a godswood in that forsaken place and it was there that she had prayed.

" _When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,_ " Arya said to him now, eyes alight with emotion. "These were Father's words to me back in Kings Landing when he was still alive. I heard it in Harrenhal when I prayed to the Old Gods. I heard it again just now. These same words had kept me brave and strong in all the trials I had faced, just like the memory of you." She smiled up at him and squeezed his hand. "And I know the wolf blood is in you too, Jon. We are a pack always and I feel like the Old Gods have given us their blessing. Mayhaps even Father approves of us being together."

Jon smiled back and nodded to her. "Aye, I hope that Father does approve. My lady mother would have approved too, I think. And it seems the Old Gods has a plan for us. I pray that it will be a good one." He bent down and kissed her forehead. "No matter what happens from now on, no more fear, no more doubt. You have me and I have you. That is our greatest strength."

Arya leaned into his lingering kiss for a moment longer before she pulled away. She closed her eyes as she drew breath. "The Old Gods were with me in Braavos too," she continued, opening her eyes and looking at him with conviction. "The Faceless Men wanted me to forsake everything that I was, to throw away everything that made me Arya Stark. But the one thing I couldn't discard was Needle - Winterfell, Nymeria, our family, and _you most of all_. You have been everything to me. My life would have long been over had it not been for the mere memory of you - the Old Gods have gifted you to me in my darkest moments. And I will always thank the Old Gods every day for as long as I am breathing. Long after I cease to exist."

Jon's breath caught in his throat and he drew her into his arms, holding her tight. She wrapped her skinny arms around his neck. There were no words he could say to her now that could equate to what she had just said to him but he tried his very best now for her.

"The Old Gods have also gifted you to me, my dear one. You were born because of a small bastard child's prayer. I had prayed for so long as a lonely little boy. Only when you were born did I feel truly loved. And you never ceased loving me so unconditionally, just as I had never ceased loving you the same way. You are everything to me, Arya. This shall never change. Beyond death for me as well."

Arya tightened her hold on him and he did the same. It was hard not to feel so physically affected by their words but he shouldered this burden, trying his best to make this a positive moment for both of them. When they finally drew apart, they were both smiling, eyes wet but happy. They resumed their vigil in the darkness with lighter hearts, ready for whatever else tomorrow may bring for they knew that the Old Gods were on their side.

***

In the morn after they broke their fast, Jon and Arya gathered all of their companions in one private room. It was finally time to come clean and stop the lies.

They were all seated in a circle, with a fire roaring in the hearth behind them. Eight pairs of eyes looked at them with curiosity - three Northerners and five free folk.

"I've gathered you today in this circle because only a few days remain before we reach Castle Black," Jon declared in a voice that held firm conviction. "As soon as we cross to the other side, things will come to light that a few of you will more than likely not approve of. So this morning, I will reveal a few things that will help you decide whether or not to continue on and follow me and Arya all the way to Winterfell, or even just to Castle Black. We owe you this truth."

Tormund Giantsbane's face looked ashen from where he sat, while his son Dryn blushed as he looked at them knowingly with narrowed eyes. Styr looked politely interested, while the rest looked confused as they waited for him to continue.

Jon swallowed, his throat feeling dry all of a sudden. He had revealed his relationship with Arya to two people already - Satin and Tormund - but from here on out, he wasn't sure how the rest would react. Jon almost jumped when he felt a hand touching his but quickly realised that it belonged to Arya just from the touch alone. Their fingers twined together and Jon looked over to her and smiled gently, feeling braver.

"There are three things you must know," Jon revealed, sounding rather weary. "First of all, I have never been a bastard of Lord Eddard Stark. My true name is Jon Targaryen, although I was named Aegon Targaryen at birth. My parents were Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lady Lyanna Stark."

The Northerners Rickard and Donella Snow had wide eyes as they gasped at the same time while Alyn of Bear Island had his mouth hanging open in shock. Tormund and Dryn already knew this and were nodding. The rest of the free folk looked confused and barely acknowledged this truth for bastards, lords, and princes meant nothing to them. Only Styr looked as if he truly understood and that was mostly because he was of the Thenn tribe, who were the most like the Northerners in the way they lived, owing their long history to the First Men.

Jon cleared his throat. "Related to the first thing," he continued. "This means that Arya and I are of different Houses, different clans so to speak. Cousins and not siblings. And this brings me to my second point. Arya and I are together. We are betrothed," Jon elaborated, pausing as he saw eyebrows shoot up and wildling faces looking horrified and disgusted. He tried to soldier on as the wildling couple Gavin the trader and his spearwife Brilga looked angrily at them both. "And I intend to marry her as soon as possible before the Old Gods in Winterfell where she is to be the Heir to the North."

"She is your sister!" Brilga spat in rage. She turned to Arya with accusing eyes. "How dare you mock the gods with this abomination! Any child you'll have will be a weakling, spurned by the gods."

Next to her, her husband looked red in the face as he glared at Jon in particular. "That is disgusting. So all that dying so that you could go and save her back in Castle Black, all that effort to tear the North apart when you tried to rescue her - it was more than a pure sibling love? Have you always wanted to fuck your little sister? Or have you already started fucking her before you even came to the Wall? The North has songs that proclaim your love for your sister but the truth is more wicked. Your inspiring love for her was nothing more than a lie."

Arya's whole body stiffened - Jon felt it from the tension of her hand in his. "Don't you dare insult Jon!" she objected. "Did you not hear him? We are from different Houses truly. We were never siblings. Where is the lie?"

"Har!" Tormund agreed, surprising them all. "And blame me too if you must. I've known this for awhile now and had not protested. It's true that they're of different clans, Brilga and Gavin. There is no harm in them being together."

"But they were raised as siblings!" Brilga protested. "You know that the free folk would never approve of this!"

"Aye," Jon agreed tiredly. He nodded his head solemnly. "And that's why we had to leave the village for we know we will never be accepted north of the Wall. We have already accepted this. But south of the Wall, there would be no problem for us to be together as cousins. Cousins have married each other for thousands of years and this shall never stop. There is no sin for us to commit being together there. That is why I'm revealing it now. This is the point of no return if you are unwilling to support us."

They were all silent now, some still enraged, some curious, and some speechless.

"Well, say something. Now is your chance to turn back around. For your trouble to accompany us all the way to White Tree, we will of course compensate you with the silver you deserve."

Surprisingly, it was Dryn who stood all of a sudden, pulling his sword from its scabbard as he presented his weapon to them. "My sword is yours. I may have been born north of the Wall but I grew up in the south as well, under your guidance as your page, Lord Snow - I mean Lord Targaryen. You taught me a great many things and I had to watch you die and be dead for awhile before you rose up and rode to Winterfell to rescue Princess Arya - or who you thought was her. I know how much you love her and I know how things are in the south. It's not truly  _wrong_ and I accept it. And so, I will pledge my sword to you both. I will fight beside you as I did in Winterfell against the Others. And if the North chooses you as the Queen and King one day, it would be my honour to remain by your side."

"Dryn! What are you saying, boy?" Tormund cried in shock. His eyes were wide as he stood too, knocking over his chair. "You're too young to decide these things!"

"Princess Arya was younger than me when she defeated the Others! King Bran is the same age as me! I am of the same age as Lord Targaryen when he decided to go to the Wall to be a part of the Night's Watch! I am just a second son, and will need to make my name elsewhere. I decide what I want. And this is what I chose!"

"You are free folk though!" Tormund vehemently countered. "If you live south of the Wall, you will have to kneel. You are no kneeler!"

"You fought beside Jon before," Dryn asserted. "I don't see why you doing so is so different from me wanting to do the same."

"Let the boy decide for himself," Styr spoke up, surprising Tormund. "You do him no favours by coddling him. He is almost a man grown and must choose his own path."

Tormund glared at Styr before turning his accusing eyes at Jon. "This is your doing? To steal my son from me?"

Before Jon could deny this, Dryn shook his head at him before turning to his father. "Stop embarrassing me, Father. There is no stealing of sons here. I am almost a man grown! I decide what I decide."

Tormund looked like he wanted to say more but sighed as he shook his head. He looked sullen as he crossed his arms. "This conversation is not over but there is time enough to discuss this. I'm sorry, Jon, go ahead."

Jon nodded slowly, relieved at the temporary reprieve. Beside him, Arya let out a sigh of relief as well. Their eyes met briefly before they looked back at the rest of their group. Tormund and Dryn went back to their seats.

"And what say the rest of you?" Jon asked.

Rickard spoke next, in a calm, even voice as if he only meant well. "I suspected that you were together somehow. I'm not surprised but I am very relieved that you're both cousins. I'm afraid about how Winterfell will react but I hope you have proof of your claim. The Northern lords will not look too kindly that you are bedding the Heir to the North, Jon. Some might even say that it may be your way of wanting to be King in the North again."

"How dare you!" Jon growled in anger. "How dare you even insinuate this!"

Rickard's older sister Donella put her hands up in surrender, looking very apologetic for her brother. "Forgive us, your grace. My little brother knows not what he says. No one in the North would ever say that you do not love your sister-cousin. You've done so many deeds in her name already. Perhaps what my annoying brother meant to say is that we hope that the road to your happiness will not be full of challenges. If there is anything we can do to help, you only need to ask. And for that matter," she said, standing all of a sudden then kneeling in front of Arya who looked shocked at her actions.

"Your grace, Princess Arya, I would also like to offer my services to you. I've known you since you were just a babe as I watched Lord Ned bring you everywhere with him. You were everywhere in Winterfell when you were growing up, making friends with everyone no matter their station. You named an entire generation of babies even when you were a child yourself. Do you still recall?"

At Arya's knowing smile, Donella smiled too. Her brown eyes were bright in her homely face. "Please take me in as your loyal servant. As the heir, you will be expected to have a handmaiden. You have been a balm to my loneliness in the village where we lived. You have been a friend too, as if our difference in station didn't even matter to you. I will always make sure that you will look your best to the North, worthy of their respect. Not that you look bad because you have blossomed into a true Winter Rose. And not that appearance is everything - but yes, it does make a difference. Not that you don't take care of your appearance but still - "

As Donella continued to ramble, Arya put a hand on her shoulder and her eyes were soft as she nodded at her. "Rise, my friend. I will employ you, of course. You're right and I will be expected to do and say a great many things. I think you will be able to help me in that."

Tears shone in the young woman's eyes as she nodded back at Arya. She looked so happy as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Wetly, she said, "Thank you, your grace."

"No need to call me that!" Arya insisted. "Call me Arya please. You are a friend first before anything else. Yes?"

"Yes.” Donella said, laughing despite her tears.

Before Donella could stand, her brother Rickard went to kneel beside her as well, surprising them all as he bared his sword and presented it to her.

"I vow to be your shield, Princess Arya." he proclaimed. "You will need knights to protect you as the heir. I'm sure Jon will want to be your knight, but you will need more than one. I can fight skillfully and have been trained under the Cassel household. My sword and my shield is yours."

Alyn of Bear Island came forward as well, kneeling his tall and heavy-set form beside Rickard. He presented his battle axe to both Arya and Jon.

"Hear me now, your grace," he declared in his gruff tone of voice. "I left the North when I heard that you will no longer be King even after everything you've done, Jon. It was disgusting that you were exiled after everything. I couldn't stand by and live in a place that allowed that to happen. But know this! Bear Island and we who hail from it know no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark! And even if you are no longer a Stark but a Targaryen, it matters not. You were the King we chose. And in marrying Princess Arya one day as a lord, you could gain the Stark name if you wished. And this would all work out - for you both to become the King and Queen in the North! You are what the North needs. The seat of Winterfell is what you both deserve! And so I pledge my battle axe as well, to both of you. I vow to be your knight, if you'll have me."

Jon and Arya spoke at the same time, surprising themselves and everyone around them. "We don't care about the seat of Winterfell!"

Surprised, the three Northerners looked up at them at the same time from where they were still kneeling on the floor.

"And that is precisely why you both deserve the North," Alyn declared in a voice full of conviction. "You know that ruling is not to be taken lightly. It is a _duty_ and not a right."

"I'm sure that having to leave your home in the village had not only been because you wanted to marry. But because you knew you had duties to the North as well." Rickard said.

"You know the cost of duty," Donella added. "And I know you will both rule very wisely, especially with your combined experience not only outside of the North but also from all over the world."

"Rise, all of you!" Arya said. "Rise, my friends! If you all seek employment, then yes, we will readily accept you. You have all been dear to us. We will need all the help we can get."

As they rose, Jon added, "Thank you, my friends. Arya and I will be happy to have you beside us. And if you see that we are failing you in some way, _never_ hesitate to tell us."

They all nodded and smiled and Jon felt his heart lighten at their bold declarations of support.

Finally, the rest of the free folk spoke.

"You know my stance," Tormund admitted, looking chagrinned at his earlier outburst. "I have already said that I will accompany you all the way to Kings Landing where I hope that you will get a full pardon, Jon. But until our parting, my sword is yours as your longtime ally. You are like a son to me, you should remember this."

"Thank you, Tormund." Jon replied, nodding with a pleased smile. "You have been one of my longtime allies and I shall always fight at your side as your equal."

Styr spoke next, in his familiar quiet way. "I am your ally as well. I can not promise to be your knight yet. But I will support you as much as I could. Mayhaps my answer will be more clear after we reach Castle Black and I have spoken to Satin."

"Aye," Jon acknowledged with understanding. "Thank you, Styr."

Finally, it was the last two wildlings' turn to speak. Looking confused at all the reaction around her, Brilga spoke first. "I don't know what they all see in you two. You both are inspiring in your feats and accomplishments, I'll give you that. And if I was a Southron kneeler, I probably would kneel too. But I cannot accept this. We have morals north of the Wall. This will be where we part. Your secret will not be divulged to the rest of the villagers. I will not ruin your perfect reputations but I'm sure they'll hear about it soon enough."

Gavin looked annoyed at his wife, but also with Jon and Arya. "I am a trader. My primary purpose of accompanying you both was to get more goods in Winter Town." He turned to his wife with an unhappy frown. "Brilga, consult me first before you speak for me."

In reply, his spearwife hissed at him with narrowed eyes. "I will cut your member off if you embarrass me again by speaking to me that way, husband!"

"Fine!" Gavin muttered, holding up his hands in surrender as he drew back in fear. "I apologise, my spearwife." He looked back at Jon with sullen eyes. "But it still stands. We are not going back until I get to trade in Winter Town. After that, we will turn back around and journey back to the village. Is that clear? I am not like the rest of these kneelers. I can only imagine how you're fucking your little sister's cunt and my balls are shriveling up already."

Jon’s face flushed at the graphic image that was uttered out loud but chose to ignore it. He sighed, understanding that this was the price to pay for the truth, especially with the free folk. "Just for traveling with us, we will compensate you with silver, of course."

"Of course," Gavin agreed with a nod. "It is only fair."

When everyone was back in their seats, it became quiet as they waited for Jon to speak again.

"Finally there is the third point I was trying to get at," Jon said, his face feeling hot now as he struggled to say his next words. "The truth is, Arya and I are already married the wildling way. So in a way, we are bonded permanently already north of the Wall."

Almost all of the people in the room leapt to their feet.

Tormund's voice boomed loudly, as he shook his fist with a huge smirk. "You actually did it! Congratulations are in order, I think!"

Dryn looked giddy as he grinned from ear to ear. "My father will have to pay up now! When I found out about you two yesterday, I bet that you stole her in some way, Jon! Arya, tell me, did you fight back very well? And was Jon truly forceful? Did you enjoy yourselves?"

Arya's face was red but she was tight-lipped. She and Jon shared a look before they laughed together as one. Dryn was definitely his father's son, in his crude questions.

It was Donella who clouted Dryn across the ear, making him cower despite the fact that he was so much taller and stronger than her. "You do not speak that way to her grace, Dryn!"

There was laughter, cheers, and a lot of congratulations although it seemed as if Rickard Snow always aimed to be the annoying voice of reason.

"Don't forget that this marriage will not be recognised by the North," Rickard stated, silencing them all. "There is the fact that there is no proof that Jon and Arya are cousins and not siblings. People will think you only want to commit incest. Also, there is no proof that a marriage took place. There were no witnesses."

"Lad, do you know how free folk marriages work?" Tormund asked condescendingly, as if Rickard was daft. "I know you are Northern but you must have learned a few things about the free folk by now."

"That's not what I meant," Rickard insisted. "South of the Wall, a marriage is not binding if there is no proof - a marriage certificate, witnesses, and the like. And there is the bedding ceremony after the marriage of course. If it was consummated - "

"It _definitely_ was." Arya assured him, making Rickard flush at her easy declaration.

"Well, a maester will need some sort of proof."

"Another man will have to look at Arya's cunt? Lucky bastard!" smirked Tormund. "What weird customs you have!"

"Enough!" Jon growled, not liking that they were speaking about Arya that way. "Those are the three things I wanted to say today. And I thank you for your support and declarations of intent to be our allies, knights, handmaiden, and friends. We will never forget it!"

"Thank you as well!" Arya said, nodding beside him. But then she looked directly at Tormund, danger in her eyes and ice in her voice. "And the next man who speaks about my cunt will lose their tongue, this I promise you!"

Jon almost shivered at her words, a dark part of him waking up from a deep slumber as the rest of the men straightened up in uncharacteristic fear at the small child-woman's declaration. For in their eyes, she was no dainty maiden who needed to be rescued but a capable warrior-princess who had once struck the heart of their greatest enemy. She was their hero, and to Jon, she was his spearwife. It took all the effort in the world to keep his cock from filling with blood. But it did slightly, poking a bit at his riding leathers. Arya, of course, noticed immediately even as Jon crossed his legs and tried to be discrete about it. She looked quite excited as she grinned to herself.

Their eyes met and without even speaking, Jon promised her a rough and thorough bedding before they departed White Tree that morning.

***

The Wall was ahead of them - it had been on the horizon for many days. Even now that it was diminished because it was melting, it was still a sight to behold. It stretched across all the land from the Narrow Sea to the Sunset Sea, a great towering blue structure that glittered in the reds and oranges of the sunset sky. Just a few more paces lay Castle Black. There was no true way to know that it was a castle from the north, only a gate at the end of a long and winding dirt road.

Yesterday, after they had broken their fast, Jon had skinchanged into a raven. In its leg, he had attached a message for Satin so that Castle Black knew of their impending arrival. Today, scouts at the top of the Wall were moving about, no doubt having spotted their traveling party. Shouts from inside the castle were heard and there was a flurry of activity on top of the Wall. As if on cue, Nymeria howled loudly, prompting the rest of the wolf pack to howl back just as loudly - all of the wolf voices becoming one song that conveyed warning to their enemies.

Trepidation made his heart heavy as they approached the gate. This was where he had been murdered by men he had considered his brothers. This was where he had been condemned three years ago after he had killed the Dragon Queen, to be amongst his murderers again. Jon shuddered, feeling a cold chill running down his spine.

It had been different, of course, he knew that. After the War for the Dawn, only half a hundred of the Night's Watch remained alive. Not all of them had wielded daggers in the dark. It did not lessen the agony to be amongst them, to know that he could never trust them, never call them brothers again.

The gate opened slowly, a thundering sound in the silence. Behind the gate was Satin in his old tattered black cloak; he was atop a grey garron, eagerly smiling as he greeted them all as friends. He led them through the long icy tunnel and into the courtyard that contained a great number of men in many colours, in addition to just a handful that were dressed all in black.

These men were not exclusively the Night's Watch now, around fifty men to add to the black brothers. Much and more were knights from all over the Southron realm. They wore surcoats with their House arms over their mail or armour, and steel swords hung at their hips.

Jon could recognise the major houses: Arryn, Stark, Tully, Greyjoy, Martell, Baratheon, Lannister and Tyrell. He could almost recite all the arms of the minor houses of the North too: Blackwood, Cerwyn, Dustin, Flint, Glover and even the new noble house of Thenn, which he had created when he had arranged the marriage of Lady Alys Karstark to Sigorn, the Magnar of Thenn. The red witch Mellisandre had performed the wedding ceremony.

Jon took a deep breath, recalling the priestess now. He had done a great number of sins because of her. One of his greatest regrets had been to swap Gilly and Mance Rayder's sons just so King Stannis wouldn't be able to use the babe's royal blood for sacrificial purposes. But this red witch had also mocked him, knowing about what was most precious to him. The agony of the past was still so clear in his mind even now.

Everything had been leading up to his desperate need to rescue Arya from the bastard Ramsay. He'd freed Mance Rayder so as to save his little sister.

The memories came flooding back:

When Jon received the pink letter from the Bolton bastard, Jon had thought of nothing but Arya.

_It had been so long since he had last seen Arya. What would she look like now? Would he even know her? Arya Underfoot. Her face was always dirty. Would she still have that little sword he'd had Mikken forge for her? Stick them with the pointy end, he'd told her. Wisdom for her wedding night if half of what he heard of Ramsay Snow was true._

_Bring her home, Mance, were his words to the King-beyond-the-Wall. I saved your son from Melisandre, and now I am about to save four thousand of your free folk. You owe me this one little girl._

_“The heart is all that matters,” Mellisandre had said to him later on as his thoughts were filled with his little sister suffering in Winterfell. “Do not despair, Lord Snow. Despair is a weapon of the enemy, whose name may not be spoken. Your sister is not lost to you.”_

_"I have no sister." Jon had said. The words were knives._

_What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister?_

_Melisandre seemed amused. “What is her name, this little sister that you do not have?”_

_“Arya.” Jon had answered in a hoarse voice._

His mind and heart and soul had been driven to madness as the same thoughts kept repeating in his mind as he thought only of Arya:

_I want my bride back... I want my bride back... I want my bride back..._

And then the daggers in the dark after he decided to ride for Arya himself to steal her away from the bastard: the hot anger, the salty tears, and the bitter taste of betrayal as his black brothers drove their daggers into his body. Then he tasted the sharp tang of blood as he desperately reached out to his direwolf, Ghost.

When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife.

And as he breathed his last breath against the cold snow that pressed against the side of his face, he thought of only one person - the person he loved the most: his beloved little sister, Arya Stark.

_Stick them with the pointy end._

"I vow with all my heart to make sure that they won't ever hurt you again, Jon." Arya promised, her voice breaking through his dark thoughts. There was a strong and fierce conviction in the way she spoke.

When Jon looked at her, she looked almost terrifying, her eyes dark and her body rigid and poised. Despite her skinny and small body, there was no mistaking that she was a true She-Wolf, lonely because of her past, lovely in her Northern beauty and her warm and brilliant personality, and lethal in all the ways that the cruel world had made her.

"I meant my vow, Jon. I am your sworn shield. No one will ever hurt you again as long as I'm around."

Jon wanted to shake his head and deny her this but her words gave him strength. They were always going to be stronger together than apart. "Thank you. But remember that I am your sworn shield also. We are amongst enemies now, and soon the gates will close behind us. Stay close to me always."

With her nod of acquiescence, Jon gritted his teeth as they slowly drew forward into the castle's courtyard. He looked at all of them who surrounded their party, armed strangers among the black brothers. From left to right, he studied all their faces. The only one he truly knew was Satin. The other brothers were men he could hardly recognise from three years ago: men from the ruined Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, from Dreadfort, and from Shadow Tower. Only a handful of brothers remained from Castle Black, men who were his murderers.

The greatest comfort their traveling party had was the wolf army that still surrounded them, hundreds of man-killers with their teeth bared. Beside Jon and Arya's horses, Ghost and Nymeria towered over all of them in their massive bulk, beasts who could tear men apart before they could draw their swords.

The knights were shaking now, afraid as they drew to the sides in fear, giving them space. And as they did, two familiar faces in the crowd drew his eyes. His breath caught in his throat as he felt a rare moment of excitement. For there stood the boyhood friends who had been his and Sam’s companions from the start: Grenn and Pyp.

Grenn who had stopped Jon from abandoning the Wall and forswearing himself following the execution of his lord father in King's Landing. Who had stopped him again when he wanted to go to his brother Robb because the Night's Watch became his new brothers due to his vow.

And Pyp who was always making everyone laugh. The Mummer's Monkey, they had called him, as he entertained everyone at supper with all his mummer voices. He too had been there to stop him when he wanted to aid Lord Ned and King Robb.

In the end, as he became the new Lord Commander, Jon grew distant from them who had been almost like friends. The last time he had seen them was before he had sent them both to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. He had been prepared to never see them again but the Old Gods have been good. Now they stood here with Jon, bearded and weary but still standing tall. There was no ill will in their eyes, and perhaps Jon could even see a glimmer of respect or the hint of a smile. He recalled them now as they stood there amongst the crowd, older, battered and broken like him, but still the same.

Pyp the mummer's boy with the big ears was a born liar with a hundred different voices, and he did not tell his tales so much as live them, playing all the parts as needed, a king one moment and a swineherd the next.

Grenn who Ser Alliser Thorne had called _Aurochs_ like the beast. He was still thick of neck and when he once was a head taller than Jon at the age of sixteen, today he towered over most men. Jon had once thought that he was slow and clumsy and he had often been mocked for not being smart.

But Pyp and Grenn had survived - among his group of recruits, only four of them remained for they had lost Edd when he had fought valiantly during the War for the Dawn in Winterfell. It would have been wonderful if Sam was here as well, the four of them standing together, brothers from a bygone past.

An excited trill broke his thoughts and he saw a sudden movement in the crowd. It was a small group of five who were not knights or black brothers, but were a ragtag bunch from all walks of Westeros. There were two women and three men standing together, all their eyes fixed on Arya. One of the women was waving over with a grin and the rest had amused looks on their faces.

As he looked over next to him in curiosity, Jon saw that Arya looked embarrassed, as if she wanted to melt into the saddle of her horse. Jon realised quickly that the group was probably a part of Arya's ship crew. When he looked at them once more, he was more discerning even as he felt an immediate companionship towards them because they were the people who helped bring Arya home to him.

The most prominent person was an older Ironborn man who looked tall and skinny; he looked gruff, with shaggy brown hair streaked with grey - that must be the Captain. There was a tall man who looked to be Father's age, a battle-hardened Northman who almost looked familiar with his pale skin and brown hair which was tied back the Northern way. A permanent grim look was seemingly etched on a face which had a deep red scar running diagonally from left to right, no doubt a souvenir from wars he had fought in. The last man had a more foreign look; his medium build, long black hair tied at his nape, light blue eyes, hooked nose, and sallow face looked plain enough, but his clothes looked like it originated from across the Narrow Sea - he must be Arya's Braavosi dancing master.

Finally, the two women who were now drawing stares from the crowd of men couldn't be more different from one another. Both of them were slim and tall with swords at their hips, but one looked more serious than the other. The more serious one had black hair, a darker complexion, and sharp features, her clothes in the Rhoynish fashion of Dorne - if she wasn't so homely in appearance, she could possibly look as if she was the real Princess Nymeria from the stories.

The younger woman was fairer with her blond hair and pale skin, with soft features common from ladies of the Southron Kingdoms. Despite having a sword, she looked too delicate and to Jon, she didn't look as lethal as the other woman. And compared to Arya, both looked quite plain to Jon.

As they finally came to a stop at the courtyard, surrounded by the crowd of onlookers, they heard the rumble of the gate closing back at the tunnel. The wolves were still with them, flanking them from all sides so that no stranger could get to the riders inside the circle. Ghost and Nymeria were alert, and even the young pups were still and attentive.

Jon felt keenly aware of all the eyes on them, on him specifically and more unnervingly, on Arya. It was as if the crowd saw ghosts. Their eyes shone with fear and shock.

And then, as if it was a dream, there was a hush as the black brothers fell to their knees before them, their heads bowed and their voices loud and clear in the sunset sky:

"Lord Commander!" Grenn shouted, leading the chant. His fist was firmly against his heart.

"Lord Commander!" the rest of the black brothers echoed, all eyes focused on Jon. "Lord Commander!"

There was a sudden commotion as the knights from the Northern houses fell on their knees as well.

”Princess Arya of House Stark!” a few knights exclaimed in surprise, recognising her from Winterfell.

At hearing this, the Southron knights went on their knees as well, recognising Arya as a Princess of the Six Kingdoms as well since she was King Bran's sister.

"Princess Arya!" they cried.

"The King in the North!" a young Northern knight cried out passionately, his voice cutting through the rest of the noise.

"The King in the North!" the rest of the Northmen echoed, trying to drown out the other voices. "The King in the North! The King in the North!"

It was a young knight from Winterfell who shouted the loudest: "The Hero of Winterfell!"

And this was countered by another young knight with the direwolf-crow crest of King Bran: "The Hero of Kings Landing!"

And then someone shouted: "The Heroes of Westeros!"

The crowd's voice became one, the words repeating again and again: "The Heroes of Westeros! The Heroes of Westeros! The Heroes of Westeros!"

Jon and Arya were still, but something had changed in the mood of the surroundings. What was once somber was now filled with hopeful chants echoing through the walls made of stone and ice. His breath caught in his throat as they were surrounded by knights and brothers who were all on their knees. They looked at Jon and Arya as if they were salvation, as if they were more than what they were.

 _King, Princess, Lord Commander, and Heroes of Westeros,_ Jon thought. _Is that what we are?_

At the wild and unexpected commotion of the crowd, his heart started to race and he felt chills running down his spine. The last time he had a reception like this was when the North had proclaimed him as the King in the North, when he was about to wage war to win Arya back from the bastard Ramsay Bolton. Swallowing thickly, Jon looked over to Arya and found that she had a bewildered look on her face, similar to what he was feeling.

The last time that a crowd had cheered for her had been back in Winterfell after she had defeated the Night King. But Arya had looked so sad that day, not even wanting to be in the celebration hall while Jon as the Northern King sat at the head table next to the Dragon Queen.

Suddenly, the wolves began to howl at the top of their voices, joining the deafening shouts of the people.

It was such a loud and glorious reception that it was as if the Wall was going to crumble just from the thundering sound.

"The Heroes of Westeros! The Heroes of Westeros! The Heroes of Westeros!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) There you go, the second half of the travel down to Castle Black. Have it before I change my mind and instead keep editing it endlessly haha.  
> (2) Again, thanks to all the commenters and supporters!  
> (3) What are your recommended Jonrya playlist songs? I need to add more to my collection. :)  
> (4) Also, sorry if explicit shenanigans keep popping up. I swear the characters are writing it for me. These things aren't even planned sometimes.


	14. An Assembly of Allies

**Arya Stark**

Four moons had completely changed Castle Black from the last time Arya had passed through it on her way to see Jon. What was once drab and dark was now full of vivid colour. Banners from Houses all over Westeros draped the walls, all in equal standing.

In stark difference to the black brothers with their worn and fraying black cloaks, half a hundred knights of the realm stood with their shiny silver mail, polished steel armour, cloaks of many different colours, and their striking and finely-stitched surcoats with their house arms. Half of the knights were Southerners, barely knowing what real winter had truly meant to the North. Even some of the Northerners were green boys, young men who had been safe in their homes during the war with the Others in Winterfell.

All of these men were staring at both her and Jon, some wide-eyed and fearful, no doubt having heard the stories and songs that were probably far too exaggerated, bigger and more absurd than the true reality that they had lived three years prior.

Presently, their weary traveling party of free folk and Northerners had just dismounted, with two young stableboys taking the reins of their horses. For the first time in a very long time, Arya's senses were finely tuned to her surroundings, sharply discerning of all the strangers that surrounded them as she tried to listen to half a dozen conversations going on at the same time. She made sure to always know where Jon was, always aware of all the dangers that could be directed to him. She disliked the fact that far too many eyes were studying her too, making her feel uneasy as she didn't know what their true intentions were.

As they stood at the courtyard, Arya assessed the situation: their group of ten was in the middle, having just dismounted their horses. Two direwolves flanked them, one grey and the other albino.

Arya had spoken to a familiar-looking Northern knight earlier, asking him to get someone to open the Southern gates so that the wolfpack could be let out into the wilderness. Through her warging abilities, Arya directed the wolves in her mind and they all went out the gates as commanded, even the young direwolf pups who were small enough that they could be mistaken as regular wolves. It was the safest place for them for now, far away from the humans, since they weren't as strong as their parents yet.

Outside of their group, there were three parties - the grim black brothers who she wouldn't trust so easily besides Satin, the knights of the North and South who didn't look like they fit in, and her ship crew of five who were the most out of place in this castle. She saw them grinning at her from a distance and she felt almost oddly flushed. Arya had lived with them in close-quarters for nearly two years, all of them stuck together inside a ship - by now, a lot of them knew far too much about her. She nodded at them with a grin, happy to see them again.

It was two black brothers who approached them first, men who looked to be of similar age to Jon. They had fond looks on their faces, as if Jon was familiar to them. One was broader than the other, with unkempt brown hair that fell to his shoulders and a thick beard that covered half his face. The other man was leaner and smaller, with short black hair, a beard that barely covered his chin, and ears that stuck out prominently from the sides of his head. In response to them as they drew nearer, Jon inclined his head in greeting with a small smile on his lips.

"We thought we'd never see you again!" the smaller of the two men exclaimed excitedly, grinning openly. Beside him, the other man was nodding his head vigorously in agreement.

"I'm glad to see you both," Jon replied. "I was worried about Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, especially after the collapse of the Wall that happened, but thankfully you both made it. Where were you both?"

The bigger man with the bushy beard answered, his voice gruff. "After you sent us away from Castle Black when you were the Lord Commander, we made steady progress in Eastwatch. I thought I was on my way to become a ranger while Pyp was going to be a steward. During the time when you came to Eastwatch with the Brotherhood without Banners, we had been sent back to Castle Black to help out with the dwindling numbers. We weren't there when the Wall fell. When the wights marched to Winterfell, we were at The Gift, battling the Others with the rest of the smallfolk."

"Aye," Jon acknowledged. He nodded solemnly, as if he was deep in thought. "We thought you both had perished. We had very little numbers left from Castle Black. In Winterfell, we thought we were making the last stand. After I left the Wall, Edd became Lord Commander as you both know. In Winterfell, it was Edd, Sam, and myself from our original group. We thought we were the only ones."

"Sam!" the smaller man chortled, speaking in a disbelieving tone. "I heard he's now Grand Maester for the King! And that he's been named as Lord of his House, and has another child to add to that legitimised bastard he claimed from that wildling girl. I don’t know how this happened but I’m quite jealous. He's the best out of all of us."

The three of them laughed together, reminiscing. They caught up on other things: the state of Eastwatch, the pompous knights who were currently at the Wall as if they knew what being posted here actually meant, and the upcoming announcement that will be given by envoys of King Bran of the Six Kingdoms, Queen Sansa of the North, and the royal retinue of the Regent Queen-beyond-the-Wall Val and her nephew Aemon Steelsong who was the child king. Grenn and Pyp were hopeful that the Night's Watch will finally be disbanded, for the seeming replacements were already here in the form of the green knights.

"We lost Edd," Jon said after they had shared many words, his tone somber. "He was also one of the better ones."

"Aye." both men agreed, nodding sadly.

"But out of five, there's four left so that's not too bad. And we have Satin too, he's made great progress." Jon said. As he spoke, they all looked towards the man in question, finding him a few paces away, in the arms of his wildling lover.

"Yes, Satin and Sam are the ones lucky with love, it would seem. I guess after the world nearly ended, the vows no longer matter in that regard," the smaller man muttered with a shrug. As he said this, his eyes drifted suddenly towards Arya, as if he finally noticed her for the first time as she stood quietly a few steps from Jon. He had a curious look on his face as his eyes squinted while he studied her closely. "Is this your little sister, Jon? The one you broke your vows for? You look quite alike."

Jon's face hardened for a heartbeat, his face guarded. "Let's not speak about such things," he said, before he sighed resignedly. His face contorted to something softer, as if he forced himself to forget dark thoughts. "But yes. Well, actually no. Arya is my cousin," Jon declared, looking pained at his words. He finally glanced over to her, gesturing her to come closer to him. When she stood right next to him, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder protectively. "It's a long story but she is my cousin and not my little sister."

"Ah, I see." the smaller man said thoughtfully. Beside him, the other man was stroking his beard, watching her with interest.

"You must be Jon's friends," Arya said courteously, inclining her head as she smiled at them. It was plain to see that these men had not been present when Jon had been murdered - they were most likely Jon's friends when he had been younger and still new to Castle Black. "My name is Arya of House Stark."

Both men bowed deeply immediately, in respect to her station. Her face felt flushed at such a grand display.

"You don't have to," Arya faltered, biting her bottom lip. "Any friend of Jon's is a friend of mine."

At her words, they immediately had friendly smiles as they straightened up from their bow.

"This one is Grenn," Jon introduced, gesturing to the stocky man with the bushy beard. "He and I weren't the best of friends at the beginning but it changed later on. And this one is Pypar—Pyp," he gestured to the slimmer man with the prominent ears. "He used to be a mummer so you two have that in common. He thinks he's funny but he's really not."

At this, Pyp immediately squawked in indignation as if he was offended, but he was laughing. His eyes were twinkling as he winked at her. Arya liked him immediately.

"And to you both, since you are my sworn brothers, I have to let you know that Arya had once travelled with Yoren, marching from Kings Landing as she escaped the capital. Her hair was cut and she had dressed like a boy, like _Danny Flint_ from the songs, risking everything to get to the Wall, to get to _me_. They were on the way to the Night's Watch but she never made it because of the Lannister men who had attacked their group. Even though she never made it to Castle Black, you should treat her like an honourary sister of the Night's Watch. After what she's done during the war in Winterfell, I think she's earned that right."

Both men stared at her then, as if they were seeing her for the first time. Their eyes were full of laughter earlier but now, it was replaced with somber gratitude. They both nodded solemnly to her, making her feel self-conscious. Quite suddenly, they fell to their knees.

"On my honour as a black brother," Pyp proclaimed earnestly as he looked up at her. "You are now a sworn sister to us, Princess Arya."

"Aye," Grenn agreed with honesty. "I vow this as well."

Arya's eyes widened and she felt speechless but she nodded her head to them immediately, accepting them as her own kin. _Any sworn brother of Jon is a brother to me as well._

"And to you, Jon," Pyp continued, turning his bright eyes to Jon. "We were wrong to question you before, so long ago. You paid the ultimate price. It was you who had been the catalyst to end the Others. You to unite and lead the army of the living and Princess Arya to deal the final blow. You have changed all our lives for the better. You will always be Lord Commander to us. And even the King in the North."

Jon looked taken aback at this declaration, eyes wide. He took a step back unconsciously in the flagstones of the courtyard until he realised that he was pulling Arya back as well, since his arm was still around her shoulders. He cleared his throat, looking away in embarrassment. His cheeks were tinged pink. He tried to hide his smile as he turned his face towards his old friends. "You're still full of japes as usual, Pyp."

Pyp grinned as he and Grenn leapt back up to their feet. And as he did, Jon opened his arms to them.

With half a laugh, Grenn and Pyp embraced Jon like a long-lost brother. In the midst of the commotion, they trapped Arya in the middle of their arms but she only grinned, happy for them and also joyful to be part of their circle. There was a lot of laughter and japes, and perhaps some tears as well, which the men hastily wiped away. Arya felt Pyp ruffling her hair, and Grenn patting her shoulder.

"We are your brothers now, Princess, whether you want us or not." Pyp stated, while Grenn guffawed in agreement.

"And if we get released from the Night's Watch," Grenn vowed. "We will probably be following you around, making sure that no green knight or sniveling little lord gets their hands on you or even looks at you in an untoward way." 

At hearing this vow, Jon and Arya's eyes met, and they burst into laughter at the same time. It was odd to hear about anyone wanting to defend Arya's honour after everything Jon had done to it for the past few moons. Just thinking about it made Arya want to find all the secret nooks and crannies inside this castle, places where she and Jon could escape to if they needed each other in many wicked ways. The embrace came to an end as they all parted but Jon’s grey eyes lingered on Arya, and she could see the restrained hunger in them as he looked her up and down quickly before locking eyes with hers.

In turn, Arya swallowed involuntary as she stared back at him with a wordless promise, wondering how much Jon truly ached for her today. No matter how often they’ve indulged, the thrill of openly wanting and being wanted by the other never failed to affect her. And when Jon gave her a sudden knowing smirk, her face felt very hot all of a sudden.

Tormund's loud guffaw from the background broke their gaze, as Grenn and Pyp moved towards the rest of their group so as to help them out with their belongings.

"Where are we going to stay in the castle, Jon?" Arya asked curiously as she cleared her throat. She decided that she needed to scout, to plan, to plot any escape routes, just in case Jon's life was in any danger. He had died in this castle once, and he will not be harmed again, not during Arya's watch - not _ever_.

"Later." Jon said, smiling gently at her. He inclined his head to point out the group approaching them.

When Arya turned around to see who he was looking at, she found her ship crew approaching. She straightened herself immediately, clearing her throat as they all lined up in front of her and Jon.

"Let me introduce you to my crew, Jon," Arya said as she gave them all a friendly smile. She inclined her head to all of them and gestured to Jon who stood next her. "This is Jon Snow, the former King in the North, and the closest kin to me." All of the crew bowed to Jon immediately, as befit his station as a former king. Jon nodded to them in acknowledgement, waving his hand to dismiss their need to bow to him.

Arya's eyes met Jon's and they shared a fond smile. She gestured to a tall and spare man who had a clean-shaven lantern jaw and eyes of changing colours. He was an old, grizzled man with brown shaggy hair flecked with grey. He looked as gruff as ever. "This is the captain of _The Night Wolf_. His name is Gylbert Farwynd, Lord of the Lonely Night, which is the smallest island of the eight major Iron Islands."

"Smallest but not the weakest," Lord Farwynd drawled, inclining his head to Jon as he smirked. "It's not the size but how you use it, don't you agree, Lord Snow?"

To his credit, Jon didn't look affected by his rude and ill-timed jape. Arya bit her lip, wishing she could clout her captain around the ear as easily as she could her friend Dryn, son of Tormund. The Ironborn were unpredictable with words sometimes even if they could become great allies. She was glad that Jon was used to the bawdy japes of the wildlings, not to mention Theon’s personality as they were growing up.

As for Jon's prick, it was definitely _not_ small. That was a complete myth perpetuated by Tormund who had seen it once when Jon was _dead and cold_. If Jon wasn't cold and it was in its full glorious size, stabbing her so deeply, Arya could sometimes swear that she could feel it trying to escape out of her throat. She wished that she could defend Jon's honour by saying this but it was probably for the best that she kept her mouth shut about this one.

"It's good to finally meet you, Lord Farwynd," Jon said carefully, nodding back at the older man. "Arya has told me many good things about you, and your brilliant skill at seafaring. I thank you for bringing her and the rest of your crew home."

"It was not my skill alone," Lord Farwynd replied, his amusement from earlier replaced by courtesy in response to Jon's. "All of us did our part. I can tell you many tales, Lord Snow, but I think you should meet the rest of our crew first."

At this, Arya gestured to the man who was standing next to the captain. This one was a Northerner who was as old as her father, with dark brown hair and coal black eyes, and a grim expression on his face. A long red scar ran diagonally across his face, from his left forehead to the bottom right of his chin, barely avoiding his eyes. His style of clothing was Northern and even his hair was tied back the Northern way. He carried himself a lot like their Uncle Benjen, quiet but smart.

"This is Ser Edwyle of House Locke, from Oldcastle, which is near White Harbour. He has fought together with Father before, one of the knights who ventured to the south when Father called on the banners. He fought by his side during Robert's Rebellion. He also fought under Robb. He is captain of the guards for our ship."

Respectfully, Jon nodded to him immediately, looking very relieved to see a Northerner amongst the ship crew. "Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Ser Edwyle. I knew a Locke once, when I was still in the Night's Watch. Ser Mallador - did you know him?"

"An uncle," Ser Edwyle said, nodding back respectfully. "Us Lockes seem to be everywhere with the Starks. My cousin Ser Donnel and I were knights under King Robb. He died at the Red Wedding with Lord Manderly’s second son, Ser Wendel. I was not with him at the time. Instead, I had been with Lord Manderly’s eldest son and heir, Ser Wylis. We were at the fords of the Trident, battling against Ser Gregor Clegane. We were captured then imprisoned at Harrenhal before getting released by the Queen because Lord Manderly made a mummer’s farce of supporting the Boltons and the Lannisters. When Ser Wylis was put on a ship to go back home to White Harbour, I was so disgusted at what I perceived as the truth that I decided to instead become a hedge knight, riding from keep to keep and taking service with different lords until the lords have no more need for me. There were far too many losses in the Riverlands, so much Northern blood spilled."

Arya chewed nervously at her bottom lip as she listened to Ser Edwyle’s words. She had heard these stories before but it was still chilling to hear them even now. Most of these things were familiar to her as she had witnessed in person: the terrible Ser Gregor the Mountain who terrorised the smallfolk and raped and tortured prisoners of Harenhall, and the Northern blood that had soaked through the mud all over the Riverlands. Arya would never ever forget how she had been so weak and powerless, nothing but a sheep, a mouse, and a ghost against all the monsters who called themselves men.

A somber mood descended upon them for a moment before Jon shook his head and cleared his throat. "I shall never forget what the Lockes have sacrificed, Ser Edwyle. But more importantly, thank you for being beside Arya all this time. It gives me great relief that she was among a Northern friend all this time," he said seriously and honestly. Curiously, he asked, "How did you come to be a part of her ship crew?"

At this, the older man glanced at Arya with a fond smile. His eyes crinkled at the sides, and it was easy to forget the angry red scar across his face. "I found the little lady at the docks of Kings Landing, getting ready to voyage to Pyke on a ship. She was all alone and unadorned with her House sigil but I knew her face immediately. I knew Lady Lyanna as I was growing up and Arya has her aunt's pretty face. I served under Lord Rickard Stark once as a squire to one of his men, then as a knight and companion to Brandon, then to Ned after he came back after being fostered at the Eyrie. Lord Ned had visited White Harbour twice with little Arya, when she was just a tiny thing in his arms. When I saw her again after the Battle of Kings Landing, I couldn't let Ned's precious little girl go gallivanting all over the place all alone even if she insisted that she could take care of herself. So I vowed to be her sworn shield."

"Ser Edwyle has been loyal and dependable," Arya said, smiling at the older man. "He made sure that the rest of the crew was disciplined and there were no thoughts of pillaging or other things of that nature."

Jon beamed at the knight and his face was full of curiosity. "You knew Lady Lyanna well? And Father? You must tell me all the stories about them - I mean, the siblings Lords Eddard, Brandon, Benjen and Lady Lyanna."

"Aye, lad. I have a lot of tales to tell and I can tell them all to you if you wish,” the older knight promised with a nod. As he studied Jon’s face, he suddenly seemed sad and haunted, his scarred face looking old. On their long journey to the west, Ser Edwyle had often looked at Arya that way, as if he was seeing old ghosts. “You have the Stark look as well, you and the little lady. I'm glad to see the Starks living on in you both." He looked to the side, smiling at Ghost and Nymeria who were looking at him with curiosity. “And direwolves too! Just like the Winter Kings of old. I've seen Grey Wind next to King Robb before but these two are gigantic in comparison, true alphas.”

Affectionately, Arya stepped closer to both direwolves, running her fingers through the warm fluffy coats around their necks as she stood between them. She was dwarfed by their great size and as she smiled in affection for them, she noticed Jon and her crew smiling at her too. She cleared her throat and peered around curiously, aware of other eyes trained on her. She wondered what the strangers thought of the direwolves.

As Ser Edwyle moved to the side, her Braavosi dancing master stepped forward, bowing and smiling. He was thirty five years old, with long black hair tied back, light blue beady eyes, sallow skin, and a hooked nose. He was the same height as Jon but his build was slighter. He wore simple Braavosi clothing, and had a rapier at his waist. His voice was heavily-accented. “Greetings, your grace. My name is Luco Volentin. King Snow, I have heard many great things about you. That you are a great warrior, battle tactician, and most of all, the best big brother ever. Arya had nothing but praise for you in the near three years I’ve known her.”

Arya felt her face heat up at his words, especially at the mention of Jon as her big brother. She glanced over at Jon whose cheeks were slightly tinged pink as well. Their eyes met and Jon looked at her meaningfully as he surpassed a grin.

Jon nodded his head to the Braavosi. “I am no longer the King,” he corrected. “You are dancing master to her as well, she told me. Her skills have advanced greatly under your tutelage. Thank you for taking her under your wing.” He paused thoughtfully for a heartbeat before enquiring, “Also, Volentin? The current First Sword to the Sealord of Braavos has the same name.”

Luco smirked, his eyes twinkling. “Very astute observation, Lord Snow. That would be Qarro, my brother.”

Jon’s eyes narrowed although his voice remained pleasant. “Her first dancing master used to be a First Sword to the Sealord of Braavos as well. What a coincidence.”

”Quite a coincidence,” Luco said with a friendly smile. “But Arya sought me out not the other way around. On her journey from Kings Landing to Pyke, her ship stopped at Old Town where she searched for a master-at-arms. What a coincidence that I happened to be there at that time. I was willing to go west of Westeros, with no family besides my brother who had no need of me. She has been the perfect student, very hardworking and eager to keep learning and improving, with a rare kind of tenacity.”

Arya smiled at her dancing master. “And I’m grateful to you always, Luco.”

He smiled back at her then turned to Jon again with a nod. “We can speak more later.”

The last two in her crew were both women but they couldn’t be more different from each other. One was a thirty year old warrior from Dorne, tall and dark-skinned. Her long black hair was braided, her eyes golden brown like dark honey. Her features were sharp and she was pretty in her own way, but she looked more dangerous. She was a silent woman usually but never to Arya. Under her green cloak, she wore a shiny brown Dornish-style armour made of boiled leather that contoured around her breasts, and her leather vambraces and boots were made out of snakeskin. On her waist hung both a curved sword and a dirk.

Next to her stood a woman of medium build. She looked more gentle and friendly, but her face was a little more homely. She was twenty five years old, fair-skinned and with braided dark blond hair and bright blue eyes. She wore plain riding leathers and a dark red jerkin under her dark blue cape. The only distinguishing thing that she had was a red rose brooch over her heart. A bravo blade hung at her waist, and a pretty bow with leaf carvings was slung across her back.

”These are my friends and companions, Sylvenna Sand and Daisy Flowers.” Arya introduced to Jon. She gave them both a fond smile.

”Is this the infamous Jon Snow then?” Sylvenna enquired before Jon could greet her properly. She had an amused smirk on her lips which caused Arya to swallow nervously as the woman looked Jon up and down. “So _he_  was the one that has kept you up all this time?” She nodded approvingly, causing Jon to stare at her in confusion. “I see all those expensive gifts are with him now, the Valyrian dagger and the silver pendant and chain. You are one lucky man.”

”But isn’t he her big brother?” Daisy whispered to Sylvenna, not as quietly as she intended. She looked as confused as Jon.

The Dornish woman’s eyes were laughing. “Apparently, he was born in Dorne so maybe he’s not as uptight as the Northerners. Besides, we all love Arya but not even she can be perfect.”

Arya blushed, getting their veiled insinuation. “We’ll talk more later. Now is the time to shut up.” she hissed at them. As they bowed respectfully to Jon, he reluctantly nodded back at them. Arya looked over at him worriedly, hoping that was the end of that, but then, Sylvenna moved closer to Jon, so that she could whisper something in his ear.

Quickly, she retreated and winked at Arya. “No need to look at me like that, little lady. I didn’t tell him how I met you. That would be too scandalous.”

Jon’s entire face was bright red and he was looking at Arya now with wide eyes full of barely-restrained want. Jon cleared his throat but when he spoke, his voice was still shaky. “How did you meet?”

The Dornish woman smirked proudly. “I tried to bed her.”

Arya groaned, shaking her head. Jon’s face went from bright red to ashen in a heartbeat. His eyes hardened as he stared angrily at Sylvenna.

”You what? You look like you could be old enough to be her mother!” scoffed Jon. His voice was soft but full of warning.

”She was very pretty,” Sylvenna reasoned, shrugging nonchalantly. “I didn’t know she was a Princess as she went about her business at the docks in Oldtown where her ship had stopped for a time. She had no shortage of admirers if you must know. But it soon became apparent after many moons of knowing her that her heart already belonged to someone. That necklace you wear now used to hang around her neck. Across the Sunset Sea, she would always look eastwards towards Westeros from the ship while clutching on to it. We all suspected her thoughts were plagued by a lover who broke her heart. And now we see you wearing it. She ran off from the crew in a hurry a moon after we arrived from the long journey, and wanted no one to follow her. A girl in love. I’m happy that she found you even if you turned out to just be her big brother.”

"I am sorry about this," Daisy said regretfully. She laughed uneasily next to the Dornish woman as she clutched on to Sylvenna's arms meaningfully. "We should talk again at another time."

"Yes, another more private time please." Arya said. She felt a little faint at having been read so openly and Jon looked unhappy next to her. As the two women walked away from them, one still smirking and the other looking completely aggravated, Arya felt relieved at seeing their backs.

"I'm sorry about their behavior," Arya said to Jon. When she looked up at him, she was surprised to see a curious look on his face as he looked back at her. "What is it, Jon?"

"The Dornish woman said something interesting earlier," Jon mumbled. His anger from earlier had faded, his face looking red now. "But I'll mention it to you later. When we're alone."

Arya's face paled, wondering which among her many secrets was suddenly divulged to her brother-cousin. She hoped it wasn't too embarrassing. Before she could say something however, Satin came over to them with Styr by his side. He had a wide smile on his handsome face.

"Welcome to Castle Black!" crowed Satin, bowing low to them in respect. Beside him, Styr was also smiling in his usual silent way.

"You have arrived at a most critical time. We expect envoys from both crowns to arrive tomorrow, as well as the King-beyond-the-Wall and his aunt the regent. There are rumours that the Night's Watch will finally be disbanded officially. To hold the border, knights from both realms have already arrived to replace the diminished numbers of the black brothers. King Bran and Queen Sansa have also sent coin to celebrate this momentous occasion. There will be a feast tomorrow night. They will be traveling with the envoys from Kings Landing and Winterfell. I have been so busy, being one of the most senior members of the few that remaining members of the Night's Watch. I was so happy to see Grenn and Pyp again after they arrived from Eastwatch. The knights have been hard work as we showed them how things work around here. A lot of them are so spoiled and only want their way. I do hope that the envoys bring good tidings to us! And now I have spoken too much! I'm so sorry." he spluttered, red-faced as he lowered his head in apology.

Jon and Arya laughed, heartened.

"Straighten up, Satin," beamed Jon. "You are the acting Lord Commander truly. We have senior members who have claimed to replace Edd but you have had the most duties out of anyone. As my former steward, you know more than all of them combined, on how to conduct the affairs of Castle Black."

"I'm so excited for you!" Arya said excitedly. "I hope you're right and that the rumours are true. You have all done your duty. And your watch has ended a long time ago."

"Yes," Satin said hesitantly. He straightened up. "I will give you more updates later but I will show you to your chambers now. You will be staying at the King's Tower, along with your travel party and the ship crew. All the chambers have already been prepared. Your rooms will be next to each other," he said, grinning at them meaningfully. "Please follow me."

Satin had boys of the Night's Watch to accompany their group. The boys, who were probably close to Arya's age, carried their things, wide-eyed as they watched the direwolves padding along with them as they ascended the winding wooden steps of the tower. They learned that the ship crew had already been here for two nights, housed at one of the lower levels. The Northerners and free folk of their party were dropped off mid-way to the top and when they reached the summit, the boys brought their things to the King's chambers. Arya insisted on bringing her own things to her own room, dismissing the boys with a smile that made them blush.

The chambers had been prepared well, with freshly laundered bed linen and clean black furs. Every corner had been swept and dusted. The table in the solar was old but polished well enough to gleam. There was paper, ink, and quill at the desk, and a basket of fruits at the bedside table. The red drapes at the window was drawn so that one could see the endless expanse of the green and gold fields of The Gift, as well as the tops of the buildings of Mole's Town. At the hearth, fire licked around a pile of logs, crackling as it warmed the cold chambers. In the middle of the room was a copper tub full of hot steaming water.

When it was just the three of them standing at the Chamber of the King, Jon shook Satin's hand. He had the fondest smile for his former steward. "Once you're free from your duties at Castle Black, you are welcome to join me and Arya as part of our retinue. You will be paid handsomely of course. But if you choose to go back North of the Wall with Styr to live a quiet life together, that is also your prerogative. But know this: you are a friend to us, to me and Arya. Now and always."

Arya beamed at Satin from Jon's side, feeling inspired at Jon's heartfelt words. "Grenn and Pyp just became my sworn brothers because of my affiliation to the Night's Watch a long time ago. To me, you are a friend and a brother as well. If you'll have me for a sworn sister."

Tears came to Satin's eyes and his lips quivered in emotion. He pulled his hand from Jon's and wiped his eyes furiously with his sleeve. "I don't deserve this."

"But you do," Jon insisted, eyes softening. "Arya's right. You are a brother to us both."

Satin bowed to both of them. "Thank you," he said wetly, sniffing. "Then I am your sworn brother and if Styr wishes it as well, I will remain by your sides as your sworn brother and servant. Until the day I die."

Heartened at his declaration, Jon and Arya beamed at Satin, saying the same exact words at the same time. "Thank you, brother."

***

**Jon Snow**

In the solar of the King's chambers, at the table that had been set with hot mulled wine and bowls of onion broth flavoured with bits of goat and carrot, and Hobb’s achingly familiar bread right out of the oven, Jon stared at Arya distractedly. After a quick but thorough bedding that still lingered in his mind with how torrid and wickedly _filthy_ it had been, both of them had bathed in a copper tub full of hot water before a loud knock distracted them while they were in the middle of lazily kissing each other. It had been Satin _and_ Donella, announcing their names outside the door. They both separated reluctantly, quickly dried off with a towel, then wrapped fresh linen robes around their wet bodies before letting the pair in.

Satin Flowers had no judgement in his eyes as he went about his business as if he was used to their relationship by now. He gave them a rundown of what was expected of them that night: meeting with those who requested audience. They were to meet with the current acting lord commander, knights from the North, knights from the major Houses of the South, Arya's ship crew, and his old friends Grenn and Pyp. He readily scheduled them all: dear friends and allies at his solar, and the rest of the knights during supper at the common hall. They were told to get ready as soon as possible because boys would be sent up to empty the tub and bring up a light meal and drinks for them and their visitors.

Meanwhile, Donella Snow, who had recently proclaimed herself as Arya's handmaiden, had a stern look on her face as she schooled Arya on the proper behavior of a Princess of her standing. Dutifully, Arya kept silent as she was told that because she and Jon were not yet officially betrothed in the eyes of Westeros, she should at least try to maintain a modicum of decorum just in case. This would mean appearing to maintain separate chambers from her brother because she was no longer a child who could indulge in openly sleeping with who everyone knew was her big brother. Although guards were posted at the bottom of the King's Tower, its walls had eyes and ears in the form of serving boys who could gossip as well as any serving girl. Perhaps even having just one tub of hot water could be seen as dubious if the information were to be heard by the wrong ears.

Arya had chewed her bottom lip and sighed as Donella led her to her supposed room, the Queen's chambers, where her things were moved. Jon had grinned at her teasingly and she had sweetly just pouted at him, even as she let her handmaiden boss her around. When she returned however after he had finished dressing himself, Jon was momentarily at a loss for words.

She had been dressed in a new gown that he suspected was brought by her ship crew because Jon had not seen it before: it was a billowy pale grey dress made of light material that made him think of fog. It was cinched at her delicate waist and her lithe curves and small breasts molded perfected against the soft material. Her collarbones were prominently displayed but the dress was not low-cut but instead sensible as it covered her appropriately. Because the Wall was cold no matter the season, she wore his gift of pale blue hooded cloak around her shoulders, the one lined with the white fox fur and elaborately embroidered with winter roses at the hem, and stitched with whimsical running wolves at its trim. Her hair was mostly unbound, but it had been dried as much as possible and the sides were braided in a simple Northern style so that her face was framed and highlighted. Small white flowers crowned her hair, a circlet of blossoms denoting her royal status as a Princess. Donella even applied some rouge shading to her lips.

Arya looked very pretty tonight, and when her face became so flushed as their eyes met, Jon's heart skipped a beat as he grinned broadly at her.

"Don't say anything." she warned, even though she was fighting hard not to smile.

Jon went to her, dressed in his black leathers, tunic, leather jerkin and fur-lined cloak, looking like a man of the Night's Watch once more. He ran his fingers through the unbound hair at the back of her head, marveling at how soft it felt. He leaned down to kiss her forehead. She smelled like winter roses, a sweet maiden of the North but also, secretly, his wildling spearwife. He nuzzled his nose with hers, trying to hold himself back from devouring her mouth. He was afraid that if he started something now, they wouldn't be able to stop. Visitors were set to arrive soon.

"Are you being cruel to me again, my Northern Princess?" Jon teased. "I can't even compliment how radiant you look? You'll drive me crazy once men's eyes start lingering on you, my little wolf."

Arya blinked before smiling gently up at him. "And if their eyes linger?"

"Let them look," Jon stated with a smirk. "That's all they could ever do. But if anyone is untoward towards my bride, do you want to know what I might do?"

"What might you do?" Arya asked in a breathless voice. Her eyes were bright as she stared up at him avidly.

"I will cut out their hearts and serve it to you," Jon whispered darkly in her ear, in what was supposed to be a jape but did not sound like it. Slowly, his burnt hand closed around her hair then tugged ever so slightly backwards at the base of her nape, in the way that she liked when they were in the throes of passion. Her head tilted back, pale throat bared while her mouth was open and ready to surrender to his. Jon pressed his lips at the pulse in her neck, aching to bite her. Instead, in a low voice, he asked her, "What say you, little sister?"

"Gods," she moaned from the back of her throat, sounding so needy for him. She was shivering under his touch. Want burned brightly in her eyes as she whispered his name, "Jon."

Jon wrapped an arm around her slim waist, pulling her small body tightly against his hard muscled one. The contrast between them had always been delightful. Jon would never tire of how she fit so well in the circle of his arms. And when he leaned down and ravished her mouth with his, she tasted delicious, warm, and so arousing. Would that he could have this girl in his arms for ever...

Presently, Jon sat at the head of the table at the King's solar, with Arya to her right. Earlier, they had a quick meeting with the disappointing current acting leader of the Night's Watch. Jon recognised him as a snobby and ambitious man from Shadow Tower. Tonight, when they spoke, it was clear that he was a blundering fool who came to leadership because there was not a lot of options out of the half a hundred black brothers remaining. The true knowledge of running the Night's Watch lay with Satin but because the sworn brothers still held prejudices because of his status as a former whore, Satin could never be more than a steward and sometimes a ranger who supported Jon, their former lord commander.

This man could never hold to the same standard that Jon had set when he used to be Lord Commander. Jon had possibly been far too political and rightfully tactical. Under his rule, King Stannis Barratheon had come to him to ask for advise on how to properly gain allies from the North. He had sought to end the prejudice that people had against the free folk, as he allowed four thousand of them to cross the Wall so as to escape the threat of the Others, with the hope that saving them would mean that Mance Rayder would save his little sister Arya in return.

He had received Queen Selyse, the red priestess Mellisandre, and the little Princess Shireen. He had swapped Gilly's baby with Mance Rayder's infant son so that the red witch couldn't burn the royal babe and turn its demise into an advantage. He had listened to Mellisandre while she said that a grey girl on a dying horse was on their way to Castle Black - he had hoped that it was his little sister Arya but, disappointingly, this turned out to be Alys Karstark who was fleeing from a marriage to her uncle.

_Lady Alys had looked enough like Arya to give him pause, but only for a moment. A tall, skinny, coltish girl, all legs and elbows, her brown hair was woven in a thick braid and bound about with strips of leather. She had a long face, a pointy chin, small ears. But she was too old, far too old. She was almost of an age with Jon._

Jon, as the Lady Alys's distant kin, had arranged her political marriage to Sigorn, the Magnar of Thenn, and had created the new House Thenn, uniting a wildling and a Northern house seamlessly and proving that unification was the best course of action especially with the impending War with the Others.

As he prepared the Night's Watch for winter, he had even readied The Gift with plans for glass gardens, haggled like a fishwife with Stannis, and agreed on a loan for the Night's Watch from the Iron Bank's envoy, Tycho Nestoris.

Jon had kept the conversation with this new acting Lord Commander as short as possible, especially since the greasy little man lost composure so quickly and started to openly stare at Arya, mentally undressing her in his mind. Jon gritted his teeth and his hand had itched as he longed to draw forth Longclaw, to point it at the man's throat. In turn, Arya had glared daggers at the man, although he was probably too stupid and delusional to even know how lethal she truly was.

The next ones who came were Satin with the ship crew. Jon quickly learned more about them. They were a ragtag group of people from all walks of life, very similar to the Night's Watch in a way. As Arya went forth and sought out companions for her maiden voyage, they all flocked to her. As always, she could make friends with anyone. There were many volunteers, highborn and lowborn alike. But what had mattered to Arya was merit from their skills and personality. She valued fortitude, conviction and even laughter over things like the nobility of their lineage. As a result, Arya had surrounded herself with bastards, orphans, whores and fallen knights among the few highborn in her crew.

They all regaled him with tales of their adventures from over the Sunset Sea. They also shared great news about their forays in trade. From the islands they had visited, they had brought back a great many things not found in Westeros: rich bold coffee that awakened the senses especially on cold mornings; an old Valyrian steel smith who decided to follow Arya over the seas because she had charmed him enough; rare spices such as cinnamon, cassia, cardamom, ginger, pepper, and turmeric; thick decadent chocolate that could be sweetened into an intoxicating drink or made into an addicting sweet treat; and a rare form of fine lavish Valyrian silk. Arya had managed to forge alliances and trade deals with foreign kings and queens, so there was a promise of getting more of these things in the future.

When they returned to Westeros, the crew went forth to sell these goods to the major houses of the Six Kingdoms. The highborn became mad for the silk, coffee, chocolate, and spices and a great number of lords in particular immediately commissioned to create Valyrian swords for their own Houses, ready to empty their coffers for the chance to own a rare piece of weaponry. They even sent their smiths to learn from their imported Valyrian steel smith but the man had rebuffed them, saying that he was under the employ of one Princess Arya Stark and was only loyal to her. A few of the crew even went across the Narrow Sea to tempt important people from Braavos about their rare goods, and they gained even more patronage that way, especially from the powerful and wealthy.

As a result, Lord Farwynd, the Ironborn captain of _The Night Wolf_ , came back with numbers so great that Arya herself was speechless at how much dragons they had made. It was enough that they should probably open an account with the Iron Bank, solely for their business ventures. Currently, the ship was eagerly awaiting Arya, their beloved skinchanger who could help them battle and evade the deadly storms that was usually lethal to all other ships except theirs. Another voyage over the sea loomed ever closer.

Arya met Jon's eyes in meaning before she turned to her crew with solemn eyes. "About that," she said in a soft voice. "I may not be able to go on the next go around. But there is a solution. All you truly need is a skinchanger to lead the way and there are many from the north beyond the Wall. In fact, there is a boy right now who is busy setting up a rookery with Tormund Giantsbane's goodson Ryk. I'm sorry to say that things have gotten a bit complicated for me now, politically-speaking."

"And personally as well?" the bastard from Dorne, Sylvenna Sand, teased as she winked at Arya.

Arya flushed, getting her meaning but said nothing.

Beside Sylvenna, Daisy Flowers immediately cleared her throat, trying to distract them all from the other woman's words. "On that note, there is something you should probably be aware of, your grace." she said, before turning to Satin who sat on her other side. She was smiling fondly at him. "Perhaps you should tell them, Satin."

Satin's cheeks burned as he looked at Jon and Arya. "Yes," he mumbled. "I'm sure you both know of my past, in Mole's Town and Oldtown. Well, when I was growing up in a brothel in Oldtown, Daisy was who I had called sister. She and I grew up together. We consider each other kin. And I was so very happy to see her again after so many years apart. Jon and Arya, you have brought us together again, and for that, we are so grateful. We thought we would never see each other again when we had parted many years ago."

Jon's gaped in surprise while Arya's eyes softened. What were the odds that even their friends and allies seemed to follow the same format as them, all of them seemingly bound together by some sort of common thread? It was as if they were all part of a great tapestry, one whose design they all did not yet know.

"We didn't do anything but perhaps it was the gods who were kind to reunite you both. I'm happy for the two of you!" Arya exclaimed in excitement.

"Aye," Jon agreed, smiling at them honestly. "Being reunited with family that you love, especially one that you thought lost long ago, is the greatest thing in the world." he stated, though he couldn't say if he was still talking about Satin and Daisy, the bastards from the Reach.

After their numerous enthralling conversations with them, the ship's crew offered gifts to Jon for they all seemed to know how much Arya loved him - he was plied with samples of their goods from across the Sunset Sea. They gave him bars of sweetened chocolate that they had crafted with honey from Dorne, a small sack of grounded coffee beans which was similar to what Arya had brought to him before, sweet tropical fruit wines, foreign and exotic nuts and sweetmeats, and fine tunics made from Valyrian silk in the colours of black, grey, and crimson.

To Arya, Sylvenna Sand and Daisy Flowers gushed at her as she was told that they went to great lengths to make various gowns for her across the Narrow Sea where they sought out the most modern designs from prominent seamstresses whose patrons included the infamous courtesans of Braavos. She was also given a small chest full of the gifts that foreign kings and sealords had gifted her during her visit to their island kingdoms. Inside were white gold necklaces, armbands, and bracelets with rare pink pearls and gemstones such as sapphires, rubies, obsidians, amethysts, and jade.

Jon's heart seized for a frightening moment as he wondered if Arya had a highborn lover across the Sunset Sea who spoiled her with riches, until he saw her turning away from the chest with disinterest, not even giving it a second glance. Of course Arya would receive gifts from foreign leaders. As a royal envoy for Westeros, it was only natural, especially if she did the proper thing and brought gracious gifts to them as well. The fact that they hadn't known that expensive gems wouldn't move her as much as Jon's original gift of Needle was a relief to him. They had probably loved her but had not truly known her, not like Jon did.

Arya was happy about the dresses though, complimenting the women about their efforts and tastes. Remembering her admiration for the courtesans of Braavos, Jon found himself smiling with the rest of the men, the Northman, Ironborn, and Braavosi waterdancing master, as she was presented gowns of many colours, in Valyrian silk, satin, velvet and lace. She was most excited about the Valyrian steel breastplate that her foreign smith made for her though. It was inlaid with sapphires and had the Stark direwolf symbol; it looked like it would fit her lithe body like a glove.

She would look good no matter what she wore - and especially if she wore nothing at all - but Jon was glad that she was now surrounded with women who had her best interests at heart. Three bastard women from three different kingdoms doted on her, acting like a surrogate mother, sister, and even a septa. Most of them were kinder to her than some of their own kin.

Jon called Arya to his side after they left and picked up a simple jewel from the small chest. He placed a necklace around her neck, a small gleaming heart-shaped ruby hung on a white gold chain. It looked perfect on her, a great contrast to the pale grey dress that she wore. She smiled up at him in thanks and he kissed her smile with his own.

Soon after, they briefly spoke to Grenn and Pyp. Jon shared a tankard of mead with them as they all talked about their recent years - what they have been doing, their plans for the future, and even pledges of allegiance.

"If I am to be released from the Night's Watch, I will accompany you south, first to Winterfell then to Kings Landing so that you could finally clear your name and become a free man," Grenn vowed seriously. "I have strength that you will need from the treacherous snakes down south. What they did to you was beyond cruel! After everything you've done for this continent! I will be the brother beside you that you could rely on."

"And you will need someone to make you all laugh!" Pyp grinned. "Or teach you the ways of the world. Remember that I grew up as a mummer's boy, traveling all over Westeros. I know everything there is to know about the finicky Southern customs and courtesies. I'm coming too!"

Jon laughed, heartened. "Then by all means, come with us as well. You will always have a place beside me and Arya, my brothers!"

***

After their conversations with all their allies and friends, Jon and Arya were led down the wooden steps of the King's Tower. They were joined by the ship crew and their traveling party from north of the Wall. At the common hall, Satin announced their arrival - "The former King in the North and Lord Commander, Jon Snow, and his little sister, Princess Arya of House Stark!"

Arm in arm, Jon and Arya walked down the center of the common hall followed by their retinue. Knights and brothers of the Night's Watch stood and bowed their heads low as they passed.

Jon wondered if they looked like a proper pair, a man all dressed in black, in leather and furs, and on his arm, his little sister in her pale grey billowy dress and pale blue hooded cloak lined with soft white fox fur. They were both armed to the teeth. Longclaw and the Dragonheart dagger hung on his waist. Arya had a slim black belt around her waist too over her dress, where she had hung Needle and the Cat's Paw dagger. Additionally, they had hidden dirks beneath their clothes. They had similar Northern faces, the same grey eyes, and even their daggers were a twin to each other.

They spent the night with the knights and brothers, entertaining questions and being friendly and civil. There were a lot of well-wishers and curious questions about where they both have been all these years, which they answered politely. Jon noticed that the knights' eyes lingered on his little sister-cousin though they remained chivalrous as only proper knights would.

In contrast, some black brothers were courteous enough though others gave Arya heated sidelong glances that was an echo of their current acting lord commander's gaze earlier in the night. Jon was reminded of the disillusionment he had felt when he had first met Yoren with the criminal boys he had recruited for the Watch a lifetime ago. The Wall was a place for third and fourth sons to perhaps find glory, for bastards even, but it was also a hotbed of criminals: murderers and rapers who at the chance of having a young maiden, no matter how important they were in the realm, would stop at nothing to have her.

Warily, Jon drank ale as he and Arya continued conversing with the men who came forward to their table to talk to them, while Arya slowly sipped on wildling cider that they kept pouring for her. Being so small, Arya's lithe body succumbed to certain alcohol more easily, especially the stronger ones. Arya was aware of this so drank as little and as slowly as possible.

In the few hours that they spent with them, they learned a lot more things, from the status of their Houses, to rumoured plans for the castles and forts of the Night's Watch.

Someone started to play music: the fiddle, pipe, and drums. A few knights and brothers approached the women: Sylvenna Sand, Daisy Flowers, Donella Snow, and even Brilga the spearwife. But mostly, the men jostled each other for the chance to dance with the Princess of the North and the South, Arya Stark.

Reluctantly, after a curious look at Jon who only nodded his head to her despite the trepidation in his heart, Arya went to dance with them. He would allow these men to get acquainted with their Princess who had been lost for so long, to know her and love her just as much as Jon did. That was not to say that Jon was not seething silently whenever a man's hand lingered around her waist, or on her arm, or when they leaned forward to inhale the sweet scent of her hair or the mint and apple cider in her breath. His hands closed into fists as he held himself back from tearing them away from his bride.

Songs that played were a little crude but loud and cheerful too, delighting the crowd: _"The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, the King Took Off His Crown"_ and _"The Bear and the Maiden Fair."_

Arya was hesitant at first but soon she forgot to be self-conscious as the songs became merrier and faster. With quick steps and graceful turns of her sinful hips, she danced with the striding handsome knights from Highgarden and Kings Landing, then the bashful but enthusiastic young knights from the Flint mountains and the Fingers. A bastard black brother her own age danced with her too, challenging her dancing skills with his own as they only concentrated on the quick moves as if it was a competition. She twirled about laughing, and the entire hall smiled and laughed with her for she was easy to love. Jon could feel his heart beating so quickly as their eyes met. She gave him a radiant smile, her admirers forgotten, as she saw only him, her future husband.

Jon found himself standing all of a sudden. He approached her and as he did, the song changed to something slower, a sweet Myrish love song. Jon and Arya faced each other, standing so close as they recalled and followed the steps of a simple and familiar dance from childhood feasts in Winterfell. Their hands met, palm against each other's as they smiled softly while they circled one other.

 _Seasons of My Love_ was what the song was called. And they danced and danced as time seemed to go on for ever, as they basked in each other's warmth and presence and love.

_I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunrise in her hair_  
_There lived no other in the world could in my heart compare_  
_Her eyes were stars of midnight bliss, her laugh a meadow breeze_  
_I would have done all that she asked, so quick was I to please_  
  
_I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair_  
_Embraced in velvet lullabies, such sweetness did we share_  
_We were all we ever had but we were wild and free_  
_And in the lands you would not find a soul as lark as me_  
  
_I loved a maid as white as winter, with snowflakes in her hair_  
_The seasons of our love had both a beauty and despair_  
_Two hearts that beat as one were we, our song was meant to be_  
_And in the skies you would not find a dove as spry as she_  
  
_I loved a maid as bright as spring, with blossoms in her hair_  
_I loved her fierce, I loved her true, we were doomed; we did not care_  
_The hands of time would take from me, even she was not to spare_  
_In the whispers of my dreams, I still see my maiden fair_

And they laughed as they danced with wildly beating hearts. But in the end, they held each other tight, forgetting their audience.

They remembered the summer of their childhood when they were both still so innocent and young as they ran through fields of wildflowers, rode horses with wind in their hair, swam like fishes in moats and pools, and played together without a care in the world. It was a summer of joy but also of comfort. They were each other's sanctuary, in a place where they could not fit in, not as a bastard boy and not as a wild little girl who couldn't conform to the norms of being a proper lady. Robb and Sansa had been the golden children, the heir and the proper lady. Jon and Arya had been the outcasts. But they had each other, and no one, not even death nor time could reduce the love they had for each other.

They recalled the start of autumn when they had parted at Winterfell, one towards the Wall and the other to Kings Landing - and immediately afterwards came the tragedy of losses of their family and each other. The years leading up to winter had been the most difficult, especially because they were apart for so long. Arya had had to face horrors all on her own, surviving even as a little girl lost in a brutal war. And Jon had broken his vows and died for her. He'd gone to Winterfell and become a King in her name.

They recollected the winter when they found themselves back in the same castle, together again after so long. But it had been a time of war, of dragons, and tyrant queens. She was a young maid flowered during that winter, with snowflakes in her hair, and a wolf army behind her. Both of them became unlikely heroes in the Wars of Ice and Fire. But winter also drew them apart, culminating at the painful parting at the docks of Kings Landing.

And then, as spring came after a few more years apart, they found each other again beyond the Wall. Jon had heard the howling of a hundred wolves, so loud as if they were war drums. When he turned around, she was there, so real and so warm in the circle of his arms. She had flowers petals in her hair that day which were falling from the cherry blossoms above them - but also on another day, when Jon had asked her to become his wife, on the day of their betrothal. Wintersweet was the name of the purple blossoms tucked in her hair, in the snowy pine forest where she agreed to marry him. The direwolves had been there too as witnesses.

_I loved a maid as bright as spring, with blossoms in her hair_

There was no one else he loved more than this beautiful Northern girl, his little sister, his cousin, his lover and best friend - his spearwife, betrothed, bride and future wife. He had died for Arya in this very castle once after he broke his vows for her, and afterwards, he had killed hundreds of their enemies with the hope to save her from Ramsay Bolton in Winterfell. It had been a war based on a lie, just like Robert's Rebellion when his father Prince Rhaegar supposedly kidnapped his mother Lady Lyanna Stark. But Jon vowed that the past shall not be repeated. They were not the ghosts of the past - though there was a similarity in some ways, Jon was not Rhaegar and Arya was not Lyanna. Instead, they wanted to be a part of a future worth keeping alive, flourishing for as long as possible.

_I loved a maid as white as winter, with snowflakes in her hair_  
_The seasons of our love had both a beauty and despair_  
_Two hearts that beat as one were we, our song was meant to be_  
_And in the skies you would not find a dove as spry as she_

As the song ended, Jon gently cradled Arya's face and leaned down to kiss her on her cheek and she did the same, slowly and sweetly pressing her lips against his skin. And when they forced themselves to part afterwards, their hands remained entwined, her small hand in his burnt one.

Then the hall applauded them, not as man and wife, but as their former King and Lord Commander, and the Princess to their realm.

***

**Davos Seaworth**

They rode hard through the difficult road up north towards the Wall. There were four of them riding on palfreys gifted to them by Lord Wyman Manderly after they arrived in White Harbour on the ship called _Myraham_. Davos was the senior member though not the highest ranking - that would be the Grand Maester Samwell Tarly who had huffed and puffed most of the way through, not being used to hard riding after being spoiled in the confines of the Red Keep for years.

With them were their warrior companions, Ser Podrick Payne of the Kingsguard who used to squire for Ser Brienne of Tarth, and Lord Edric Dayne of Starfall, a young man who used to squire for Lord Beric Dondarrion. Both were great knights, one cloaked in white and sworn to protect his king and the royal family with his own life, to obey his commands, and to keep his secrets. The other was the _Sword of the Morning_ , a title of House Dayne bestowed on the knight who bears the ancestral greatsword _Dawn_. The last to bear the title was Ser Arthur Dayne, a famed knight of the Kingsguard, the very person who was defeated by Howland Reed at the Tower of Joy where Jon Snow was born.

They made sure to stick to the Kings Road and did not venture to Winterfell when the great grey castle came into view. There was time enough to see what's become of it later on. Instead, mounted on horseback, they flew through the road, stopping only at night to rest. Thankfully, the days were mild as winter has truly left these lands, no longer grey and dark but bright and colourful with fields of flowers, crops, and grass. As it was, they seemed to have arrived at Castle Black earlier than expected.

A guard spotted them immediately and somehow recognised Davos even in the dim light of a single torch. The gates were opened and all four companions rode inside Castle Black's walls. A young man he did not recognise came to receive them, their horses taken to the stables by two boys and their things sent up to the King's Tower where they would stay with the party of Jon Snow and Arya Stark. The young black brother led them towards the common hall.

From outside the building, Davos could hear the surprising sound of merriment, laughter, and song. There seemed to be a celebration of sorts.

"It seems they've started before you could make your announcement, Grand Maester Sam." remarked Podrick with an amused grin.

"Just Sam, please," Sam insisted with an awkward little laugh. "Especially here."

"Ah, yes, I almost forgot," Podrick said as he nodded. "I don't know why I keep forgetting that you used to be a part of the Night's Watch."

"A lifetime ago," Sam croaked in a small voice. He shrugged tiredly. "Too many memories here."

Davos smiled kindly at Sam but also at the two other young men next to him. "Let's keep this about the mission, shall we?" he said before suddenly faltering. His heart was heavy as he said the next words. "Are you all ready to see Lord Snow again? It's been so long, and I feel shamefaced to see him again, not after what we all allowed to happen to him three years ago."

Sam looked guilty too. Podrick nodded solemnly and next to him, Edric did the same, but only out of politeness - _Ned_ , Davos reminded himself, not Edric.

"I'm sorry, Ned, I didn't mean you, of course. I apologise for dragging you all the way to the Wall for this delicate mission."

"Not at all," Ned countered good-naturedly. "Besides, I've always dreamt of seeing the Wall. And of course to see a friend of mine from childhood."

"A friend?"

"Princess Arya, of course," Ned said, in a matter-of-fact voice. Beneath his long pale blond hair, his smile was radiant as he seemed to get lost in old memories. "A lifetime ago, it seems."

Davos gave him a queer look. Ned was no more than eighteen years old now. A lifetime ago was not too long ago for someone like him, but Davos supposed that he was getting too old himself. As for Ned and Arya's friendship, Davos has heard about it before, when he had spent some time with the Brotherhood without Banners during the preparations for the War for the Dawn in Winterfell. The Princess Arya must have only been ten years old when she had been friends with Ned in the Riverlands during the War of the Five Kings, if Davos was not mistaken. Her life before she resurfaced in Winterfell had been a complete mystery, and probably always will be.

"Shall we go inside?" Davos asked. At their nods, Davos pushed the oak door that led to the common hall.

Inside, it was warm and full of activity. The volume of the music was even louder here; a sweet love song was playing. Knights from all over Westeros dominated the floor, but men of the Night's Watch were also scattered here and there in their black garb. All of their eyes seemed to be fixed on the young couple dancing in the middle of the floor with a few other dancing partners next to them.

The man was dressed all in black from his boots, breeches, and his fur cloak, and from the back, he looked almost familiar. Dancing with him was a pretty young maiden in a foreign billowy light grey dress that hugged her slender form and a luxurious pale blue cloak lined with what looked to be the softest white fur. A crown of pale flowers adorned her hair. She and her partner danced together, eyes locked and with smiles full of love and meaning. They were a beautiful match, there was no doubt. Perhaps they were a newly married Northern lord and lady from nearby. Davos had unfortunately lost track of the Northerners' political climate, since the North broke off with the rest of the six kingdoms.

When the song ended, the man leaned down to kiss the maiden on her cheek, and she in turn leaned up on the tips of her toes and kissed her lord, her lips lingering on his skin. They were very intimate, a young lord and maiden in love.

Then they both turned to the crowd as deafening applause was bestowed upon them.

All of a sudden, Davos felt as if he had been punched in the gut. His hands shook as he realised: It was none other than the former King in the North, Jon Snow, as well as the Princess of Winterfell, Arya Stark, who Davos had personally seen defeating wights with a dragonglass staff - a truly unforgettable and unbelievable sight. _Jon and Arya, the heroes of the Wars of Ice and Fire._

The guilt came back tenfold and Davos cleared his throat softly, hoping he could find the words for the man who used to be his liege lord and king, a man he seemed to have abandoned after he was exiled north of the Wall. Davos should have tried to visit him at least once, to make sure that he was doing alright. He had sent a letter once and Jon had responded but they were nothing but polite words on paper. At some point during their time together years ago, Jon had started to become like one of his sons, like kin. How could he put that on paper, through letters? To see him now after all these years was like a stab in his old man heart.

 _How did I deserve to be so blessed and he so full of misfortune?_ Davos thought, feeling tears forming in his eyes. _But it will be corrected soon when he is set free from an exile he never deserved. Soon._

And Arya: she was now grown, a maiden who had the wild Northern beauty of the Stark women. She looked every bit the princess in her elegant dress and with flowers in her hair, showing a different side to her warrior nature - a complex girl it seems who had countless roles to play. And for once, she looked happy as she luxuriated in the presence of her beloved brother.

 _She looks like Lady Lyanna Stark._ _A child-woman of surpassing loveliness._  Davos mused in surprise as he studied her. During the tourney at Harrenhal decades ago, he had caught a glimpse of the young Stark maiden when he had personally delivered a shipment of food from his ship which he had docked at the Saltpans. Lady Lyanna had been striking not only because of her beauty but also because of how fierce she was, as she had defended the little crannogman Howland Reed from bullies outside the tourney grounds. Lyanna and Arya were both Northern beauties with similar faces. Like her aunt, Arya Stark was slim of frame, had long brown hair, a long face, and grey eyes. She was probably of an age with Lady Lyanna when she had Prince Rhaegar's son, Aegon Targaryen - who came to be known by the world as Jon Snow. A man who became king despite not bearing his lord father's name, nor his true prince father's.

"Lord Davos Seaworth of Dragonstone!" barked the black brother who had met them at the gate, his voice booming as it echoed throughout the hall.

Davos almost jumped in surprise at the sound of his loud introduction. Suddenly, all eyes were on him and he found it hard not to flinch under the scrutiny of the knights and brothers.

The names of his companions were announced too: "Grand Maester Samwell Tarly of Horn Hill! Lord Edric Dayne of Starfall! Ser Podrick Payne of the Kingsguard!"

Two black brothers were laughing as they moved forward immediately, one tall and broad and the other skinny and with huge protruding ears. They spoke at the same time. "Grand Maester Samwell Tarly!"

At the same time, Jon Snow's eyes widened and he had a look of disbelief on his face. And then he too moved towards Samwell with a broad grin. "Is that you, Sam?"

Sam squeaked unbecomingly but he too laughed as he rushed forward to meet his friends with open arms. "Jon! Pyp! Grenn! I thought I'd never see you again!"

The men were suddenly together, locked tight in a firm embrace, four brothers who had known each other since they were nothing more than boy recruits of the Night's Watch.

A little away from the reuniting men, Ned drew forward with a warm smile and approached Arya. In turn, she looked at the young lord politely before her eyes lit up in recognition. She looked excited, a grin gracing her face.

"Ned!" she said with a laugh.

In front of her, Ned stopped and bowed his head politely like only a chivalrous knight would. Gently, he took her hand and brushed his lips against her skin. "It has been so long, Princess Arya of House Stark," he said before straightening up with a grin. "The Hero of Winterfell."

She bowed back to him courteously, although she did not stop smiling. Amusement danced in her eyes. "Lord Edric Dayne of Starfall," she said before pausing briefly. She noticed the greatsword strapped on his back before she suddenly blinked as if she remembered new information about him. When she said her next words, her face was full of wonder. "The Sword of the Morning."

Together, they laughed in a friendly manner, the politeness giving way to an old familiarity. They were immediately full of chatter as they reminisced about a childhood that was taken from them so long ago.

Davos could feel a warm fluttering in his chest at the sight of their fond display of good-natured affection. They looked a sight, a tall young man with long pale blond hair and dark blue eyes that looked almost purple, and a slim Northern beauty with her pale skin, brown locks and grey eyes. Their mere physical appearance reminded Davos of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lady Lyanna Stark: a forbidden romance. _A lifetime ago._

"Lord Davos!" Jon exclaimed as he parted from the embrace of his brothers. He looked very handsome even as he was dressed all in black. In a way, he looked so much better now than when Davos last saw him three years ago. He looked younger and more at peace, and perhaps he had even found happiness. Jon went to him and shook his hand like an old friend. "I thank you for traveling so far North to meet me in Castle Black."

Jon's hand was warm. Davos will always remember the day when he had witnessed the young man rising from what should have been a permanent cold death. At his resurrection, Jon had been rabid and changed, half a wolf and half a man. He was almost feral as all he had wanted to do was to ride to Winterfell to save his little sister, Arya. And through that war, he had become the King in the North in the process.

"It's been so long, son." Davos said hoarsely, feeling choked up at merely saying the words. In front of him, Jon was looking at him with a curious look in his eyes, as if he didn't even realise how much it was hurting Davos to see him again, after he had abandoned Jon for so long.

"Davos?" Jon queried uncertainly.

"I'm really sorry, Jon" Davos apologised. He went on his knees before the young man and wept. "I was your Hand. But in the end, I couldn't do anything for you. You should have never been exiled. You who have done so much for Westeros. I've been so blessed these past years even in my old age while you had to suffer in exile beyond the Wall. I vow to right the wrongs done to you, son. The time has finally come."

"Arise, Lord Davos." Jon commanded gently. When Davos didn't move immediately, Jon leaned down to help him get back to his feet and held him as if they were father and son. In a soft consoling voice that Davos could barely hear, Jon said to him, "I have never blamed you nor will I ever do so. I've done my penance but I will reclaim my honour and my name soon, my true name. I will fight for my future, as well as for the life I want to live with my betrothed. And for the children we will someday have."

"Betrothed?" Davos whispered in confusion as he looked around the hall, trying to find a maiden who could be Jon's bethrothed. There were only a handful of women, but most looked plain and lowborn. Jon's former paramour had been the Dragon Queen, a stunning beauty who wielded so much power. The only one who could match her here would be...

Jon was looking at Arya who was still in a very friendly conversation with the handsome Lord of Starfall. Jon's eyes were narrowed, and his hands had closed into fists. There was darkness and possession in his grey eyes. Though he said nothing, Davos could almost hear a beast-like growl from him. It reminded him of the time when Jon rose from the dead in this very castle, when he had been a feral half-wolf who was obsessed with the thought of saving Arya Stark, his little sister.

Davos felt his heart stopping as he realised that Jon, the son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, was in love with the little sister he grew up with, who painfully looked too much like the Lady Lyanna reborn: Princess Arya Stark.

And just like his father Rhaegar when the man had fought and died for the honour of Lady Lyanna at the Trident during Robert's Rebellion, Jon too died at Castle Black before rising again so as to lead the North in a war to retake Winterfell and save Arya from the cruel Ramsay Bolton. _Two different wars by two different Targaryen men, but both for the Northern girls that they were in love with. The two she-wolves of Winterfell even look the same._

_Prince Rhaegar loved his Lady Lyanna and thousands died for it._

_Jon Snow rose from the dead and became the King in the North. He rode to Winterfell to save his little sister Arya and thousands died in that war._

Davos staggered backwards at the revelation, feeling as if he was seeing ghosts. He stared at Jon who only had eyes for his little sister.  _Jon, what are you doing, son?_

And when Arya felt Jon's gaze, she looked at him with a radiant smile, with pure love in her eyes. It was enough to sooth something in Jon and the tension in his body loosened and he sighed in relief. But their eyes lingered on each other as a whole intimate conversation was exchanged between them without a word being uttered.

 _It's mutual,_ Davos realised with a start. His heart was beating so quickly in his chest. The despicable image of the red witch Mellisandre came to him now, with her prophesies and the visions she saw in the fire. _The heroes of the wars of Ice and Fire. The song of ice and fire. Is this a reckoning?_

The prophecy had referred to so many things but there was one more that no one talked about too often. The song of ice and fire may also refer to a union of House Targaryen and House Stark. The Pact of Ice and Fire was an agreement made between Prince Jacaerys Velaryon and Lord Cregan Stark during the Dance of the Dragons civil war, that a royal princess should marry into House Stark in exchange for their support of the blacks, but it was never fulfilled. It was a little different with these two because it was a royal prince born from House Targaryen who had bound himself to marry a royal princess of House Stark, but the intent was the same.

And with Grand Maester Samwell Tarly coming to the Wall so as to also advise his friend Jon about the location of the missing eggs of _Silverwing_ , the dragon of Queen Alysanne Targaryen from over two hundred years ago... Dragon eggs which have long been rumoured to be hidden at the Wall...

_Will the dragons come again through the union of the dragon and the wolf?_

_Was Jon and Arya the prophesied song of ice and fire?_

***

**Queen Sansa**

Morning light streaked in through the colourful crystal windows of the sept. Inside, Sansa held vigil in silence, with Septa Alyce as her only company. The older woman hailed from White Harbour. She and Septon Theomore arrived nearly three years ago after the sept was quickly rebuilt, right before Sansa's marriage to Lord Willam of House Dustin. The sept had been carefully reconstructed after it was ruined during the War for the Dawn. It was now grander and more lavish - a worthy sept befitting the capital of the Kingdom of the North.

In the bright morning light, the Faith of the Seven watched her from all seven walls: Maid and Mother, Warrior and Smith, the Crone with her pearl eyes and the Father with his gilded beard; even the Stranger, carved to look a little like a direwolf instead of a human. All seven had been repainted and polished to shine so that the colourful details of each made them look almost real. Sansa had seen to it herself that the Faith of the Seven should become of equal standing to the Northerners' Old Gods, in dedication to her beloved lady mother's beliefs. It was the one place in Winterfell that looked the most splendid as she spared no expense in its reconstruction, even using real gems and gold for the statues and the shrine surrounding them.

The godswood was improved too, of course, in dedication to her lord father. She made sure that the servants cleaned the wreckage from the war but there was only so much she could do. Many trees were wounded, their trunks hacked and slashed by weapons of war. Its solemnity had seen many horrible battles, and evil itself had entered it in the form of the Others and their leader, the Night King. It would be forever tainted, although people from all over the North flocked to it whenever they came to Winterfell, eager to see the place where evil was vanquished.

In the beautiful solemn sept, Sansa tried her best to concentrate on her scheduled morning prayers. A queen had to be a shining beacon that all her subjects looked upon for guidance. A queen had to be devout, pious, and deeply connected to the gods.

But try as she might that morning, Sansa found it difficult to concentrate.

Earlier that day, Sansa was abruptly woken before dawn even broke. At her door, her handmaiden Marna stood with an apologetic and fearful look on her plain face. Next to her, Maester Wolkan looked aggrieved. He had urgent news from their man at Castle Black. Three letters had arrived: one from Arya, another from Bran, and the third from the spy.

From Arya's letter, Sansa learned of her arrival at Castle Black from north of the Wall. Sansa had been a little annoyed because of the tardiness of her sister's response. The summons had been sent to Castle Black nearly five moons ago, when Arya was still in Pyke. Sansa had anticipated that, at Arya’s arrival to Castle Black, the letter would be there waiting for her and that it would prompt her to ride for Winterfell immediately after a quick visit to Jon.

Two and a half moons after the summons left Winterfell, Arya had sent a quick and insufficient letter saying that she would answer the summons after two more moons. Arya had not been in a hurry at all to assist her queen sister, to do her duty for the North.

But now that Arya was weeks away from coming back to Winterfell, Sansa immediately set Maester Wolkan to send ravens to all her vassal lords and ladies. These letters had been carefully constructed five moons ago during Arya's arrival to the continent; the same contents still applied. Sansa was planning to welcome her little sister back home to formally announce her as her heir in front of the Northern bannermen, immediately stabilising her kingdom. It would be a cause for celebration, for the North to indulge in song and merriment for once after a long spell of nothing but grim problems, bickering and grumbling.

After Maester Wolkan left, Sansa quickly read the letter from Bran. It was nothing important - Bran merely informed her that Lord Davos Seaworth, Maester Samwell Tarly, Ser Podrick Payne, and a Lord Edric Dayne from his council were roaming the North now, on their way to the Castle Black.

Sansa knew that their purpose was the same as her envoy's, who she had sent up to Castle Black with the retinue of Regent Queen-beyond-the-Wall Val and her little nephew Aemon Steelsong who was the child king. The current acting leader of the free folk had recently been to Winterfell to negotiate terms for border and trade issues. It had been a tiresome affair with an unsatisfying conclusion and both their parties were nearly bickering in the end, despite Sansa's iron grip on her infallible courtesy.

When Sansa unfurled the unmarked third scroll, she read the hastily-written script:

_Arya Stark has arrived at Castle Black with her wolf army. Jon Snow rides beside her as well. The reception they both received has been frightfully loud. The ice walls are still echoing with the loud proclamations of the Northern knights who called Jon Snow as the King in the North. It is my belief that he means to ride south to Winterfell with his little sister. At the moment, they have both retired to the King's Tower with their retinue of eight wildlings. Guards have been posted at the front of the tower. I believe they are awaiting the arrival of the envoys and will be here for the announcement regarding the fate of the Night's Watch. I will report more when there is new activity._

Sansa felt the blood drain from her face at the news. Bran had mentioned that Jon was to be summoned to the Red Keep soon but she did not expect that Northern knights of all people would be so treasonous as to proclaim their loyalty to the former king when he had long been replaced by her. Sansa could not understand why they would do such a thing and she couldn't help but feel affronted.

Was Sansa not their Queen? Has she not done her utmost diligence in trying to restore the former glory of Winterfell during the past three years? Under her rule, she had mended the ruined Northern capital as quickly as she could. She was the one who was responsible for making sure that it became even more elegant than what she remembered from her childhood, enough to rival the glamorous castles of the Southron kingdoms. There was never-ending construction to improve and beautify.

This was Sansa's legacy: to rebuild Winterfell. It was like an echo of the past, when she had built Winterfell's castle in the snows of the Eyrie. She was always meant to do this.

Presently, in her lady mother’s sept, her brows knitted as she took a deep breath. The smell of incense hung heavy in the air, mingled with the sweet scent of half a hundred beeswax candles that burned. She could not find peace no matter how hard she tried nor could she dedicate herself to prayer. Her mind was heavily immersed in her troubles.

No matter where she turned, whispers followed her, not always within earshot but she knew they were there. It made her wary and suspicious of the people surrounding her, but she held her head up high. There may be naysayers but they will only just be that at the end of the day. Sansa was their Queen, now and always. She would shoulder this as she has always done, with courtesy as her armour.

Weeks from now, when she will meet her vassals with the Hero of Winterfell beside her as her chosen heir, Sansa’s rule would become iron-clad. And with her little sister having flowered in the winter and currently being in the springtime of her maidenhood, every lord will look upon her with hope. Lords would bend the knee and beg their Queen for her heir's hand in marriage as they pledge the last of their ancestral riches as dowry.

Even when Arya had just come back from her absence three years ago, Sansa had been aware that Jon had been bombarded with betrothals for her, which he had shut down immediately and understandably since she had recently just returned to them. It was Theon who had spoken to Sansa in a more objective way, saying the same words he had said to Jeyne Poole when she had been Ramsay Bolton's captive bride, posing as Arya.

_"No one will care what Arya looks like, so long as she is heir to Winterfell," Theon had said. "A hundred men will want to marry her. A thousand."_

Sansa hoped that Arya was ready to do her duty. It was time to grow up, just like Sansa has had to years ago. Being married off by their liege lord or lady, especially by one's king or queen, was the duty of every highborn girl and Arya was not an exception. Her lady mother had to do it when she married Lord Eddard Stark. Her aunt, Lady Lysa, had to do it when she married Lord Jon Arryn. Sansa had to do it when she married Lord Tyrion Lannister; in fact, she did it again when she married a lesser lord from an influential Northern House so as to secure her position as the Queen in the North. Even her uncle, Ser Brynden Tully the Blackfish of Riverrun, had been commanded to marry by his lord brother Hoster Tully who was Sansa's grandfather; when the Blackfish did not agree to be betrothed, it had brought shame to their family and had strained his relationship to his brother.

Arya was still under Sansa's rule. In place of her lord father, Sansa was Arya's head of House and had to make sure that Arya was found a worthy match. No matter what Arya had achieved, she too had to live with the rules of their society. And in fact, with the quick rumours of her return, Sansa had already received numerous enquiries from all over the North, and some from the Six Kingdoms as well. All of them have of course just been invited to see the girl herself when she arrives from beyond the Wall, to stand beside Sansa as her heir.

There will be a great Spring Feast, to rival the lavish feasts from the South. Singers, mummers, and fools have already been summoned. Hunters were going to be sent to the Wolfswood in a fortnight, close enough to her sister's arrival. The cooks and bakers were going to make the most sumptuous meals. Brewers were busy with producing as much beer, ale, and cider as possible. Lords and Ladies from every Northern House should arrive around the same time that Arya will arrive, and were told to bring their best finery. There will be days of dancing, songs, and merriment. Sansa will be dressed in her most beautiful dresses.

_The North will prosper again._

***

**The North**

The Northern lords and ladies received their ravens from the Queen that day. Summons from Winterfell contained promising words, with the invitation for a Spring Feast that would celebrate the return of Arya Stark who was the Hero of Winterfell.

There was a lot of scoffing at first for the last thing that the suffering and hungry North needed was a lavish and expensive celebration. But in the end, they thought of Valiant Ned Stark's little girl who had never had a celebration for her homecoming after she was lost for so long, or had never felt the love of the North for her even after she had saved them all when she struck her dagger in the heart of the Night King, the leader of the Others.

They all started to pack and ready their horses, wheelhouses, and retinue. At the same time from across the lands of the North, the vassal lords and ladies of House Stark prepared for their journey to Winterfell: Blackwood, Cerwyn, Dustin, Flint, Glover, Hornwood, Thenn, Locke, Mormont, Norrey, Ryswell, Umber...

It was not only because of the summons from the acting Queen in the North however. Ravens from the Wall arrived almost at the same time, coming from Northern knights. It contained information that the true King in the North Jon Snow had emerged from beyond the Wall despite his exile and was soon to journey to Winterfell with his little sister Arya Stark. They all knew that a great movement was about to happen, and without even calling for the banners, a significant number of them were ready to answer the call and be there for their king once more.

Jon Snow was the king they had all chosen for themselves and they had all vowed that he will always be their king until the end of their days, or his, whichever came first. And he was very much _alive_ so there was no reason why he was ever replaced. If the North must rise up once more to reclaim his crown for him, then they shall do so. They will bleed and even die for him, just as he had done for them years ago.

Hungry and penniless vassals were desperate vassals and if Northern blood must be spilled again so that the rightful king is in his proper seat, then so be it.

_The North Remembers._

***

**Howland Reed**

From Greywater Watch in the swamps and marshes in the Neck, Howland of House Reed emerged for the first time after twenty-one years. By his side rode his daughter and heir, Meera, and in front of him was a lone rider with his House arms flapping in the wind: it was a black lizard-lion on a grey-green fabric. Three other loyal crannogmen rode with them.

Howland had gotten a raven from Lady Maege of House Mormont who pleaded with him about a most important matter. It was time to determine who the true heir of the North was.

Additionally, Howland wanted to see for himself the babe he and Lord Ned brought back from the Tower of Joy, the prince and heir of the Seven Kingdoms who, at the end of the Battle of Kings Landing, had been unjustly exiled beyond the Wall despite all the glorious things he had achieved for the North as well as all of Westeros. The day that Howland received news about the Targaryen Prince's fate had been a sad one, three years ago.

 _Even now, Westeros still does not know how important he is, what his name is, or that he is the last dragon from House Targaryen,_ Howland thought regretfully. _Or how his mother had fought death so bravely for as long as she could so that she could divulge his true identity to her lord brother Eddard Stark. He was never a bastard. He was the true heir to the Iron Throne._

_It's time to right the wrongs of the past._

Howland thought of a fierce Northern girl who had defended him against three squires at the tourney of Harrenhal; the boys had mocked him for being a crannogman and then attacked him. He recalled Lyanna Stark, with her brown hair, long face, and grey eyes. She had been a true Northern beauty who caught the eye of many lords and knights. But she was also a wild she-wolf who could ride as well as any man and knew weapons far better than Howland did. Both of them had conspired to restore his honour; in his place, donned in an ill-fitting armour and a helm that hid her face, she had emerged in the tournament as the _Knight of the Laughing Tree_. She had been an excellent fighter, despite being of small stature, just like Howland. She had challenged and defeated the knights who the squires served, and in turn, the same squires who had bullied Howland were appropriately punished.

Prince Rhaegar had been commanded by King Aerys to find the true identity of the Knight of the Laughing Tree in his paranoia, but only the shield with the arms emblazoned with the weirwood tree with the laughing face remained. Howland suspected that Prince Rhaegar may have actually found the true identity of the mystery knight, and it led him to meet Lady Lyanna for the first time.

_During the tournament, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen won, but instead of crowning his own wife, Princess Elia Martell, as the queen of love and beauty, Rhaegar shocked those present by presenting the laurel of blue winter roses to Lyanna, placing it in her lap with the tip of his lance. It was at that moment when all the smiles died..._

_Inside the Tower of Joy, Ned had found Lyanna in a bed of blood, dying. Lyanna died in a room that smelled of blood and roses. A fever had taken her strength, and her voice had been faint as a whisper. There was fear in her eyes, while she called for Ned to promise her something. When her brother gave his word, the fear left her. She smiled, and her fingers clutched his own in a tight grip._ _Lyanna died shortly thereafter. Eddard was still holding her as she gave up her hold on life and rose petals slipped from her palm, dead and black._

_Howland Reed found Eddard still holding the corpse. It had been difficult to separate the hands of the living man and the dead girl, though Ned had no recollection of what happened after Lyanna died._

Howland brushed his tears away as he and his retinue rode quickly through the causeway, following the Kings Road north towards Winterfell.

 _Beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time._ Ned had lamented to him later on as they stared at the sleeping face of Lyanna's newborn son.

Howland Reed had loved Lyanna Stark in his own way, even though he knew that she was not ever meant for him. His heart had been broken when she died.

_I mourned her for twenty-one years, but it's time to do right by her son. I pray it's not too late. Forgive me, Lyanna._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Have this monstrosity before I change my mind. I wanted it shorter but gave up on attempts to be succinct. The word count is too high but I can no longer stop the words from flowing.  
> (2) So many things going on here. The pace as usual seems really slow so I added some Northern movement happening at the end.  
> (3) Poem that was inspired by GRRM was written by Leonard Snow. Credit: [Seasons of my Love](https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/seasons-of-my-love/)  
> (4) [The Bear and the Maiden Fair](https://youtu.be/t6VMSYIXCCY)  
> (5) Thank you for all the playlist recommendations. It's helped out as my background music while writing.  
> (6) Companion Smut Fic to this Chapter: [Supple as Sin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21464974)  
> (7) Howland Reed, everybody!


	15. The Gift

**Jon Snow**

Summer snow covered the grounds of the godswood like white diamond dust sparkling in the mid-morning sun. Jon huffed, his warm breath puffing out like fog in the frigid air. Next to him, holding his gloved hand with her smaller one, was his little sister Arya.

That morning, after arms training under Ser Rodrick's watchful eyes where they had practiced with bows and lances, Jon and Robb ran off towards the Broken Tower. Under its shadow, they were no longer little boys but knights and heroes as they played sword-fight with their sticks. They laughed and shouted as they hacked, slashed, and parried at each other.

"I’m Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I’m Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I’m the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I’m Ser Ryam Redwyne."

As they fought and played, their laughter rang in the yard. Robb was good, but Jon was better. That morning, he kept winning their bouts. When Jon managed to disarm his half-brother once more, causing Robb to fall suddenly to the snowy ground with a huff, Jon had rejoiced happily, brandishing his stick in the air and proudly proclaiming the words that he had said dozens of times before, "I am the Lord of Winterfell!"

Embarrassed and red-faced, Robb leapt to his feet and spluttered, "You can't be the Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard born! My lady mother says that you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell."

Jon turned around in shock as he did suddenly remember, and the happiness from a moment ago immediately dissipated, his laughter dying. His wide eyes became itchy as he looked at Robb across the yard, their friendly rivalry forgotten. For the first time, Jon felt resentment towards his half-brother as he felt something heavy inside his chest. Swallowing the painful lump in his throat, he turned away before Robb could see the angry tears in his eyes.

 _It's not fair,_ he thought bitterly. _I didn't choose to be born a bastard. What did I ever do wrong? I have nothing and will always have nothing. I'm just a bastard._

For a heartbeat, Jon just stood there as snowflakes fell from the sky, his back rigid as he fought hard not to cry. The silence between them seemed to stretch for hours as he and Robb said nothing to each other.

And then, with his hands balled into fists, he ran forward and away from Robb, almost stumbling in the slippery flagstones in his haste. His feet took him towards the entrance of the walled godswood. He almost made it inside the walls before a tiny blur of grey, brown, and blue hurtled towards him, its skinny arms closing around his middle. Jon caught his little sister, Arya, finding tears in her own eyes as she wept in his arms.

Surprised at finding her in a similar state to himself, Jon held her for as long as possible. At the tight hold of her skinny arms around his middle, Jon found his anger melting away and the agony yielding to something warmer and softer. Both of them immediately found comfort from one another.

Arya never seemed to fit, no more than he did. Sometimes, it was as if they didn't belong in Winterfell at all.

His little sister was rigid as he held her. She, too, had been so upset, her uncontrollable tears driving her to run out of her Septa's lessons. Her little feet took her outside the walls of the Great Keep, and straight into Jon's arms. Arya told him that Septa Mordane cruelly belittled her again for her stitches, as well as her manners. The other girls had neighed at her behind the Septa's back while giggling. Jeyne Poole had whispered to her, calling her "Arya Horseface" with a smug smirk. Everyone had laughed, including Sansa.

"It's not fair!" Arya exclaimed in frustration as she sobbed against his middle, her tears getting the front of his quilted leather coat wet.

"Nothing is fair, little sister," Jon responded, feeling heartsick for her, but also himself. Jon held her gently with one arm, while his hand mussed her hair.

Jon closed his eyes for as long as he could before he forced himself to find bravery for both of them. He blinked away his tears as he looked up at the sky, past the tallest towers of the castle. The last of the snowflakes were falling, and the clouds were parting slowly to make way for sunlight. Jon hoped it was a sign from the Old Gods signifying that it'll get better for the both of them too.

And so, Jon took Arya's hand, and, together, they went through the iron gate at the entrance and began the long journey towards the weirwood in the middle of the walled godswood. It was the best place to find solace, according to their lord father. They walked for what seemed like hours, with snow crunching under their boots. The slow walk gave them comfort for these woods were sacred and peaceful, so far away from the people that made them feel like outsiders.

The godswood of Winterfell was a dark, primal place of three acres, of old forest untouched for ten thousand years. Around them, they were dwarfed by ancient trees: sentinels, oaks, and ironwoods, but also ash, chestnuts, elms, hawthorn, and soldier pines. With each step they took, a crow seemed determined to keep following them as it flew from branch to branch, but they ignored the creature.

They circled around the small, dark, and cold pool that was in front of the ancient weirwood heart tree. The weirwood's bark was as white as bone, with dark red leaves, and a long and melancholic face carved into the bark, its deep-cut eyes red with dried sap. A thousand years of moss and clod covered the earth around it.

Without a word, Jon and Arya went on their knees and were silent as they thought of their solemn prayers to the Old Gods.

Jon prayed for strength and guidance, and also asked the gods for mercy - for him to someday find a place in this world. In his heart of hearts, he wished for it - for Winterfell, for someone to love him for true, and for the name of his lord father to be bestowed to him. Jon longed deeply to be a trueborn Stark like the rest of his siblings. It hurt that all these things would never be his.

He prayed for his little sister, too, asking for the same things for her. Among their family, being the youngest girl, Arya was only a little better than a bastard. She was the last in the line of succession if it ever had to be contested, and would probably never inherit from House Stark, for there were many siblings who came before her. She was also unfortunate enough to be born a girl. Arya would just be married off one day for political advantage. In fact, their lord father and Lady Catelyn had already begun to talk about her options; Septa Mordane was to be given the impossible task of making her a proper lady. In only a few years, marriage prospects will start flying in for her from across the realm.

Jon had unintentionally overheard them talking about Arya's future, while he hid around the corner of a hallway. His heart had seized in a moment of hot blinding rage.

Arya was _his_ little sister. The thought that she would be sent off far away to become a wife to a lord who was just a stranger to her left a bitter taste in his mouth. Jon could never imagine Arya getting married to anyone ever. Jon had punched a wall as he lost his temper, running away from the voices of the Lord and Lady of Winterfell. Thankfully, no one saw him, and Robb and Theon had only asked him about the bruises in his knuckles afterward.

Jon was only ten years old, and Arya only five, but sometimes it was as if they were so much older. Bastards grew up faster than other children, and with the way that the highborn women unfairly treated his little sister, it sometimes seemed as if she was a bastard too. When the day comes when Arya will be sent away from Winterfell to live with her betrothed, Jon would surely be heartbroken. He was already heartsick at just thinking about it, at losing Arya for ever.

In contrast, their sister Sansa was excited at the possibility of moving to a fancy southern court to become a lady there, but Arya was different. Arya, with her wild wolf blood, belonged to the North, with Jon and the rest of their brothers.

When they finally finished their solemn prayer, they both stood, dusting off the snow from their clothes. Jon wore leather breeches, so it made no matter, but Arya's brows knitted in concentration as she found that snow had melted on the hem of her dress when she had knelt for prayer, getting it wet. It made her sigh in frustration. Looking unhappy, she frowned as she looked at the weirwood.

Jon watched her curiously, wondering if she felt better. But Arya's wet eyes had gotten wide as she stared at the haunted face and bleeding eyes of the heart tree. Concerned, Jon wrapped an arm gently around her shoulders to share his warmth. They were both in their fur-lined cloaks, with soft grey pelts around their necks. In response to his actions, Arya bundled closer, pressing herself eagerly to his side and leaning her face against his leather coat.

"Are you still afraid of the weirwood, little sister?" he asked gently. "It's only the Old Gods. You mustn't be afraid at all."

Arya bit her lip as she looked up at him with her big grey eyes. She shook her head, fiercely, "I'm not afraid!"

"I know you're lying," Jon teased as he mussed her hair. Her long brown locks weren't very messy today because she had been cooped up inside for most of the morning. It felt soft and silky against the pads of his fingers; perhaps her handmaiden had brushed it enough to make her cry in boredom. The thought made him smile. "You always bite your lip when you're lying. You mustn't lie to me."

Even as she leaned into his hand, her face crumpled a bit, and she almost looked upset at the mere idea that she would ever lie to him. "I'm not lying!"

Jon crouched down, so they were eye-to-eye. He held her by the back of her head as he kindly said, "Of course you're not lying, little sister. You would never lie to me. And I would never lie to you either."

For a heartbeat, she was silent even as she nodded her head to him. She looked like she was deep in thought, possibly not a very good one. Her lips trembled ever so slightly as tears formed in her eyes. In a sudden fearful whisper, Arya finally forced out the horrible thought that had been plaguing her mind, "Am I a bastard too, big brother?"

Jon's heart stopped, and he felt devastated at her question. His stomach plummeted as he feared the worst. For a moment, he almost believed that she was like him, too, a bastard. It would have made sense, for they were the only ones who did not look like the rest of Lady Catelyn's children, with their easy smiles, auburn hair, and blue eyes - the Tully look. Jon and Arya looked more like their lord father, with their long face, brown hair, and grey eyes - they were the only ones with the Northern look. Was the Stark look the marker for being a bastard?

Tears fell down the sides of Arya's cheeks, and her face screwed up in agony at his mere hesitation. She began to cry. Horrified and heartsick, Jon reached forward to wipe her tears away with the pads of his thumbs.

"You are Arya of House Stark," Jon vowed to her truthfully as he cradled her face, in a voice that held as much comfort as he could give. She sniffed as she stared at him through the tears in her eyes, desperately needing his reassurance. "Always remember that. You belong in Winterfell."

"For true?" Arya whispered in fear, her bottom lip trembling. "You're not lying?"

"For true," Jon promised. He meant it with all his heart, especially as he told her this truth in front of the heart tree, the Old Gods. "You are not a bastard. Only I am the bastard in our family."

"You're not a bastard to me, Jon," Arya affirmed gravely with a frown. She spoke with firm conviction, "You're my brother!"

"But I am, little wolf," Jon sighed. He smiled at her sadly. "I am a bastard. I have no name and will never inherit. I cannot ever be a lord of anything. Not Winterfell, and not even an empty holdfast anywhere."

"Why can't you be the Lord of Winterfell? You and Robb can be lords together." Arya inquired with wide eyes, cocking her head to the side in confusion.

"Bastards can't inherit anything," Jon lamented. "I didn't make the rules, little sister."

Arya's face scrunched up in thought for a moment, before her eyes widened as she realised something. She was full of fire as she declared, "You can still be the Lord of Winterfell if I married you! I could give you my name!"

Jon blinked in surprise before he grinned at her in amusement. She was only five years old, after all, and didn't yet understand. "Marry you? What made you say that, little sister?"

"Remember? You told me about Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives?" Arya challenged, grinning back at him now despite the tears that still clung to her lashes. She turned away from him, leaving the warmth of his touch as she went to the foot of the weirwood. Among its gnarled roots, she picked up a fallen branch and brandished it in front of her, the stick falling quickly through the frigid air with a whistling sound. Proudly, she turned to him with a broad smile and decided, "You could be Aegon the Conqueror, and I could be Visenya!"

Jon couldn't help but laugh, feeling joy at just watching her. He stood back up from his crouching position and watched her hacking and stabbing at an invisible enemy right in front of the heart tree. He, too, picked up a fallen branch and went to her to play swords. "You don't want to be Visenya. You should be Rhaenys!"

"Why Rhaenys?" Arya queried, finally looking happier now that Jon wanted to play with her. She eagerly tried to hit him from every direction, but it was easy to avoid her attacks. Their stick swords whacked against each other with loud cracking sounds. "Visenya was better at swords! You told me!"

Jon wondered if perhaps he shouldn't have been telling Arya tales about heroes and heroines of old. Being so quick to absorb all his tales, she could get in trouble for knowing too much and having too many ideas. If Septa Mordane or Lady Catelyn found out about all the unladylike stories he had already told her, Jon could also get in trouble. But Jon was confident in his little sister. Arya had never betrayed him, not even to their lord father. She never would, of that he was certain. Their secrets were always safe with each other.

"Why Rhaenys?" Jon muttered as he skillfully defended himself against the wild strikes from Arya's pretend sword. "Well, because Aegon the Conqueror loved her the most, of course!"

"But she wasn't as good at swords!" Arya insisted as she tried to stab the stick towards Jon instead, which he, of course, parried successfully.

"Rhaenys was a battle commander of sorts, though. She was just as good in battle," Jon explained. "She didn't need to be the strongest swordswoman to be a warrior. You're as skinny as that stick, little sister. Your mind has to be as sharp as the sword you carry."

Arya stopped her attacks and just stood there as she tried to catch her breath. Her cheeks were rosy from exertion. She looked thoughtful. Jon lowered his own pretend sword and leaned on it as if it was a walking stick. Around them, their footsteps had trampled the snow in front of the heart tree. He hoped fervently that the Old Gods wouldn't be mad at them for playing too close.

"But Aegon married two wives," Arya puzzled with a look of concentration on her face. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. "I wouldn't want that. When you have to marry, can you only marry me, Jon? No one else?"

Jon laughed in amusement. Playing along, he nodded to her solemnly. "Of course, little sister. But you know, you're planning it all wrong. You should be the Good Queen Alysanne instead."

"She flew with her dragon to Winterfell two hundred years ago?" Arya asked excitedly as she remembered. Jon had only recently shared that story with her. He made sure to always have a new tale ready for her during the times when she crept into his bed at night. She tended to always run to him, day or night, since their lord father and Lady Catelyn had their youngest baby boy to tend to now. Bran seemed to be her lady mother's new favourite child, for he had the Tully looks like the rest of their siblings and was her youngest son. "I like her too! Who was she married to again?"

"Good Queen Alysanne was the sister-wife of King Jaehaerys," Jon answered. "They ruled Westeros peacefully for a very long time."

"And did King Jaehaerys love Good Queen Alysanne?" Arya asked eagerly, with an almost desperate tone in her voice.

"Always," Jon proclaimed, his eyes softening as he smiled down at her. "He loved her always."

"Oh," Arya breathed, with wonder in her eyes. She beamed, and her whole face flushed as she looked up at him almost shyly. "Can we be King Jaehaerys and Good Queen Alysanne then?"

Thinking it was still just a game to her, Jon nodded as he promised, "Aye, little sister. I can be King Jaehaerys, and you can be my queen of love and beauty, the Good Queen Alysanne."

For a moment, Arya looked thoughtful as she seemed to recall something. Her face fell all of a sudden. "But I'm not pretty enough. Sansa thinks I should marry Hodor. I don't think I can marry a king at all."

With a heavy heart, Jon sighed and opened his arms to her. She went to him immediately, sprinting to him. Jon lifted her up and held her close. In front of the weirwood, they embraced each other tightly, their hearts beating so quickly in their chests. Her skinny arms felt so warm around his neck.

"You are to me," Jon promised as he buried his nose in her hair. It smelled like the soap they had washed it with, like winter roses. "You're pretty and kind, and I love you so much, little sister."

Shivering at his words, Arya drew back for just a moment with gratitude in her eyes. She beamed down at him as she eagerly rained kisses all over his face. They laughed together in joy.

When Jon finally set her down on her feet, he studied her as his heart fluttered in happiness, both of their morning's heartbreak forgotten. Despite the cold all around them, Jon felt very warm at the mere sound of her laughter.

She had snowflakes in her hair as she held him tight around the middle and looked up at him with a beautiful smile. "I love you too, big brother!"

***

Jon woke with a start, blinking as his eyes adjusted in the weak light of early morn. The childhood dream was still fresh in his mind, a fond summer memory that warmed him to his very bones.

As his eyes focused, he found the same little sister from his dreams, all grown up and now betrothed to him. Arya's eyes were shut as she lay on her side, facing him. Her face looked peaceful, and her hair was rumpled from sleep. The slim curve of a naked shoulder was exposed as the furs atop her had slid down her body. It barely covered her breasts. Jon's eyes softened, as dream and reality muddled together. No matter how many years would pass them by, Arya could always make him smile. He reached out and tucked her hair behind an ear, beaming. And as he did, Arya's eyes slowly opened as she woke up.

"I dreamt about you," Arya murmured groggily, with a small smile on her lips. "We were in Winterfell at the godswood. We were very young."

There was a fluttering in his heart despite his confusion. The only dreams they've shared before have been wolf dreams. Could they share memory dreams too? It made no matter for it was a good dream worth sharing. Jon pulled her body on top of his, relishing the feel of skin against skin. He pulled her face close and kissed the scar above her brow, which caused her to rain little sweet kisses all over his face. "I had the same dream, possibly," he said, laughing softly at the tickling sensation of her lips against his ear. "Do you remember it still? It's still fresh in my mind as if it happened only yesterday."

"I asked you to marry me," she breathed in a loving whisper in his ear. She drew back, with a soft look on her face. Her face was flushed, and she looked almost shy. "And you agreed."

"And then I asked you the same question now that we're older," Jon mused aloud. His fingers trailed very slowly down her back, marveling at how soft her skin was. "You haven't changed your mind?"

"Never," she answered with no hesitation. She shivered as his fingertips touched the base of her spine.

"Last night, a hundred men from all across the continent finally saw what I've seen from the start. A hundred men who fell in love and whose last thought before they slept was you, my dear sister-bride."

Her nose scrunched up in distaste. "Just the thought of it!"

"So you didn't waver in your desire for me with all your new admirers? Your brother, your cousin, blood of your blood?"

Arya looked at him tenderly, caressing his face as she tried to read his thoughts. "I would die first before I would even consider anyone else."

"Not even the Lord of Starfall?" Jon asked. He tried to keep a neutral tone, but somehow, he almost sounded wolf-like in his displeasure. "The men whispered of how good you looked together, the gallant Sword of the Morning and the radiant Hero of Winterfell."

Raising a brow, Arya sat up, crossing her arms in front of her bare breasts. She was sitting on his abdominal muscles, and the feel of her bare intimate parts against his stomach caused him to stir below. In a teasing voice and with a grin on her face, she asked, "Do I have to prove it to you?"

Jon couldn't help but grin as his hands settled around the curve of her hips. "That's up to you."

Arya shook her head with a laugh before leaning down until their lips were only a breath apart. Her hands cradled his face gently, her thumbs caressing his beard. Their eyes stared at each other as Arya vowed to him, "You are the only man for me."

Jon felt his breath catch at her words, and a soothing tenderness settled deep inside his chest. And then she was kissing him, stealing the rest of his breath away with the force of her passion. Jon buried his hands in her hair and tugged lightly, making her moan inside his mouth. He tilted her head to the side as he deepened the kiss further, their tongues clashing.

Pulling away from the kiss, Arya gifted him with little kisses from his lips to his neck and chest, all the way to his abdomen. She cherished each scar on his body, scars that had been gifted to him by his black brothers as they murdered him in this very castle. She whispered her love and agony to each one as if she was worshipping his body.

When she found herself hovering right above his erect cock, she leaned down and placed a kiss on its head. She looked up so that they were eye to eye before she licked a stripe across the length of his arousal, from root to tip. Jon shuddered at her actions. She continued to tease him with her hands and tongue, but soon his cock was inside her lips. She sucked his cock with her sinful mouth for as long as he could hold himself back, until his entire body shook, his release swallowed by his bride.

If they could have gotten away with it, they would have spent the rest of the morning making love, but it was going to be a busy day for all of Castle Black. And so they stole what little time they could as dawn broke outside the King's Tower.

***

They broke their fast at the common hall with the rest of the brothers, knights, and other parties. The serving boys brought out black pudding, sausages, hard-boiled duck eggs, black bread, and stewed apples with prunes from Hobb's kitchen. Hobb himself came out later on to personally serve them dark beer. Jon never thought he would ever see the old man look so fondly at him as if they were kin. Perhaps it was true that they were always going to be bound by brotherhood, in a way, despite everything.

Jon spent most of that time with Lord Davos and Tormund, discussing their planned trip to Winterfell on the morrow. He had an enjoyable time speaking with Ser Edwyle Locke, too, the man who was the captain of the guards in Arya's ship, _The Night Wolf_. Ser Edwyle shared with him stories about his childhood in Winterfell as a squire, when he was close in age with the Stark siblings: Brandon and Eddard. Jon learned that Brandon the heir was so wild that in his youth, he ruined many a maidenhead and sired a few bastards as well. With his betrothed, Lady Catelyn of House Tully, no one doubted that he would have taken her to bed before they were wed. Some even suspected that Robb Stark was his own son, but it was neither here nor there and was merely just a rumour now.

Ser Edwyle spoke about the younger Stark siblings, Lyanna and Benjen. Jon learned that his mother was a lot like Arya, not only in appearance but also in personality. She was a champion for the smallfolk, the weak, and the oppressed. She was great at riding horses and was even skilled at using weapons, for she secretly practiced with her brothers. She was practical, outspoken, and had a personality that was larger than life. She was even brash sometimes, and like Arya, she had moments of tenderness and loveliness. She was a great Northern beauty who died far too young.

As Jon was engrossed in his own conversations, Arya was her usual friendly self, charming everyone around her. She japed with Dryn, Sylvenna, and Pyp and became courteous with knights she didn't know too well. With more familiar friends, she spent more time in conversation, especially her childhood friend Lord Dayne. It seized his heart sometimes whenever they shared a fond look at an old memory they spoke about, but Arya gave him no cause to be jealous, especially after what transpired in their chambers that same morning. Still, Lord Dayne's eyes sometimes lingered, as most men did. And this caused Jon to grip the table tightly from time to time.

They were approached at the table by two parties as they were finishing their meal. One was a black brother who had a request from the smallfolk of The Gift. The people of Mole's Town requested an audience with the Princess who had defeated the leader of the Others. They wanted to see the former Lord Commander Jon Snow, too, because he had been so involved in their well-being when he was trying to prepare their lands for the upcoming winter.

Additionally, Samwell Tarly had a nervous smile as he requested a private audience with only him. Jon told him that it'd have to wait until after they visit Mole's Town.

After an hour spent in chatter and courtesies with the knights and brothers, Jon was glad to get away from the crowd finally. They had an hour until their departure to Mole's Town, so Jon took the opportunity to escort Arya around Castle Black, to show her what his former life was like. Ghost and Nymeria were beside them the entire time, great direwolves that scared off anyone who dared to look at them wrongly.

Jon pointed out the Lord Commander's Keep and Hardin's Tower, where he used to sleep. He told her about the other towers: The Lance which was the tallest, the Tower of the Guards which was the strongest, and the Silent Tower. He introduced her to the ravens at the rookery and showed her the weapons at the armory. They even spent a quiet moment to peruse some books in the library, which, thankfully, had not been ruined during the war.

Arya became fascinated by the Shieldhall, which contained walls hung with rows of brightly coloured wooden shields from knights who used to take the black. Standing in the Shieldhall made Jon recall the hours before he had died. It was in this same hall when he had rallied his brothers to ride south with him, towards Winterfell, where he had hoped to rescue Arya from Ramsay Bolton. _All in vain._

Finally, Jon led her to the iron cage that was used to ascend and descend the face of the Wall. They both entered, and Ghost and Nymeria paused, looking puzzled.

"It's your choice, boy," Jon said to Ghost. "Do you want to go to the top of the Wall? Or do you want to wait down here?"

Nymeria whined as she stalked forward and sniffed at Arya's outstretched hand.

"Is it safe for them up there? Won't it be too slippery?"

Before Jon could answer, Nymeria made the decision for them as she entered the iron cage, causing it to shift because of her weight. Behind her, Ghost followed along as if he was her shadow, sniffing at her tail.

Arya laughed. "I guess we're all going up then."

The iron cage ascended up slowly. Ghost and Nymeria were warm as they were all pressed tightly together. Outside the cage, as they rose higher, the morning sun lit the gloomy grey buildings of Castle Black as knights and brothers ambled along its flagstones. Beyond its walls, a distance away was Mole's Town with its haphazard shacks and buildings.

"Most of it is underground," Jon explained. "I used to call its people moles because of this."

"To protect from the snow and ice?" Arya asked curiously.

"Yes," Jon answered with a nod. "Three-quarters of that town is actually underground."

When they reached the top, they exited carefully, mindful of the slippery surface underfoot. The three black brothers who were scouting looked surprised to see them at first but immediately became friendly and courteous. Jon didn't know them from his time on the Wall. But they knew him, and they knew Arya as well.

"Lord Commander!" they exclaimed in respect as they leapt to their feet and bowed. To Arya, they bowed too. "And Princess Arya!"

"Dennys! Robard! And Cley, was it?" Arya greeted with a grin, astonishing Jon.

"Aye, your grace," the young man mumbled, red-faced. Beside him, the other two looked pleased that she remembered their names.

Jon narrowed his eyes as he studied them. He suddenly recalled all three from last night, the ones who had danced with Arya. They all looked like Northerners, with their dark hair and solemn features.

"Are your feet sore, Robard?" Arya asked, her eyes twinkling in mirth.

The young man in question huffed, forgetting who he was speaking to. He was the one who tried to outdo Arya in her dancing skills last night. "Not at all, Princess!"

They all laughed in shared camaraderie before their eyes widened as Ghost and Nymeria emerged from the iron cage. It was always surprising to see direwolves that were nearly the size of horses.

"They won't harm you," Jon found himself reassuring them despite his reservations. "May I show Arya around?"

"Aye, Lord Commander!" they said simultaneously.

Jon led Arya and their direwolves out into the open air. They walked across the icy surface, which was wide enough for twelve horsemen to ride abreast. Despite being faithful in Arya's balance, Jon couldn't help but hold her hand as they walked. The direwolves stalked forward in front of them, with careful steps as well.

They all stopped when they were no longer within earshot of other people. They looked Northwards, towards the lands that they had traversed during the past few weeks. The haunted forest stretched on for leagues, dark green, and foreboding. There were hills and rivers too, as well as stretches of open fields.

"I never thought I'd ever stand on top of the Wall," Arya said in wonder. "It's been melting, so they've truly made an effort with keeping up the facilities on top."

"They have indeed," Jon agreed. "It is a hard life living at the Wall, so everything must work properly."

"You must have had a tough life here," Arya mused. "I wish I made it here with Yoren so I could have been with you."

"It was freezing," Jon confessed. "I thought I would never feel warm again. I, too, wish that I reunited with you earlier, but it worked out in the end. Besides, it would have been dangerous for you here, being a girl."

"It would have been dangerous for me anywhere else," Arya said with a shrug. "But it doesn't matter now."

Jon nodded gravely, remembering that Arya too had been serving in a strict institution, not unlike the Night's Watch. The House of Black and White sounded very similar to it. But she was right. It didn't matter now.

On top of the Wall with the direwolves next to them, they reminisced about the long trip they recently had. They spoke about their life in their cabin in the True North. It seemed as if it had been years since they've left it, and they missed the privacy and freedom they used to have.

And as they turned around and faced the wide expanse of the distant fields of The Gift, past Mole's Town, they were met with the impending march to Winterfell. They reluctantly spoke about Sansa, Winterfell, and even Bran. Jon wondered if he would ever forget that Sansa broke her vow to him in front of the weirwood, which was essentially the Old Gods of the North. He wondered if she ever regretted betraying him.

When they descended the Wall, Grenn, Pyp, Dryn, Sylvenna, and Daisy were ready with their horses near the southern gate. They were to accompany them to Mole's Town to meet the smallfolk.

But Jon slowed down their walk with a hand on her wrist. And at one particular spot in the yard, Jon stopped completely and held Arya by her shoulders. He couldn't help but confess to her, "This is where it happened."

"Where what happened?" Arya asked in confusion. But she must have seen his face twist in agony, and she understood immediately. Her eyes widened, and tears came. Her voice was hoarse. "Where you died."

"Where I died," Jon affirmed in a soft voice.

Arya's tears spilled over her cheeks in agony, and she buried her face in his chest, holding him tight around his waist. "Don't ever die again. Promise me."

Jon held her, immediately regretting that he even said anything. "You know I can't promise you that, little wolf."

She said nothing, shielding her face from onlookers. Her body shook, but she tried in vain to keep her emotions in check. She forced herself to look up at him. "Did it hurt? Dying? What were your final thoughts?"

Jon took a deep breath as he was washed over with old memories: the sharp pain of the blade plunging into his back, the betrayal tasting bitter on his lips, and the cold snow on the ground. It felt like a scar now, old and worn. He held her even tighter. "It hurt, but I barely remember the agony now. Before I died, I thought of Ghost. I warged into his body after I left mine. The last thought in my mind was a memory."

"A memory?"

"My last ever moment with a pretty Northern girl, the only one who could make me smile. It was the first lesson I gave her after I gave her my parting gift."

Her wet eyes lit up in recognition. Her hand grasped the pommel of Needle, and Jon wrapped his own hand around hers.

They said it together now, both of them smiling at each other.

_"Stick them with the pointy end!"_

***

Mole's Town was half a league away from Castle Black. They passed green and golden fields of wheat, corn, and barley that were tended by the smallfolk. They met the pups and the rest of the wolfpack along the way. The eager pups ran towards them with their tongues out and their tails wagging. Arya made them all pause as she and Ghost and Nymeria fussed over the pups. She hand-fed them some dried elk from her pack and ruffled the fur between their ears. Ghost and Nymeria licked their faces and sniffed their fur.

"Enjoy the wilderness! We'll journey south on the morrow!" Jon said to the pups with a grin before they continued their journey.

When they entered the village, they saw a smithy, a stable and a small number of hovels with shuttered windows and wooden slats. A crowd had gathered at the village square, and they went on their knees as Jon, Arya, and their retinue approached.

"The former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and King in the North Jon Snow and Princess Arya Stark!" Grenn announced in a loud booming voice, from his mount.

Half a hundred villagers rose from the ground and greeted them with cheers, excitement, and even awe. Jon would have felt uneasy if not for the fact that they were merely acting friendly.

Jon was pulled into a conversation with the elders as they thanked him profusely for all his efforts in readying the village for the winter when he was still the Lord Commander.

With a horn of ale pressed into his hand, which Grenn sampled first before giving him permission to down the rest of it, he was brought to the glass gardens that had thankfully survived the war. Inside, the smell of earth was strong. There were a lot of crops inside that would not have survived the harsh winter outside, like tomatoes and radishes. A small child with a grubby face offered him a small sack of ripe strawberries, and Jon said his thanks with a genuine smile.

As they went back to the square, a brothel owner japed with him, telling him that Jon could avail the services of any of the whores in his employ. Jon scoffed immediately, feeling uneasy at the offer. He turned to Arya to say something about it but found that she and Nymeria were no longer by his side. Panicked, his eyes scanned the streets around the village, and he sighed in relief at finding her surrounded by the village women.

When he walked towards them, the man kept mumbling next to him. Arya must have felt his eyes on her from across the square, for she looked up as she was speaking to the women, a smile on her lips.

"Ah, are you yearning to avail of one of the women now? Are you looking at the one next to your little sister?"

The man's words astonished him enough to break eye contact with Arya and look at the man in disbelief. "What did you just say?"

"Did you want one of the whores now? It's free for you, Lord Snow!"

Jon almost punched the man. He had never partaken in the practice and he never ever would. He felt slighted that they would think he would ever look at any other woman besides his bride. But before he could react, an elderly man's words broke through the tension. The old man had his arms crossed as he watched Arya in wonder.

"It's the first time in centuries that a Princess held a court over the women here. These are the forgotten women of the realm. Not even the current Queen in the North cares about them. The last person of royal birth who cared enough about the whores of Mole's Town was Queen Alysanne Targaryen. It's been over two hundred years, but we've never forgotten. In fact, it's said that Queen Alysanne stood in that same spot when she held the women's council in this village. She had a dragon with her, but this time, there's a direwolf instead with the Stark Princess. Perhaps it is now a time for wolves."

Jon felt stunned at the comparison, and suddenly he remembered his childhood dream and his vow to a little Northern girl.

_"Can we be King Jaehaerys and Good Queen Alysanne then?"_

_"Aye, little sister. I can be King Jaehaerys, and you can be my queen of love and beauty, the Good Queen Alysanne."_

***

After they returned to the King's Tower at Castle Black, Donella Snow insisted on washing and changing Arya in preparation for the arrival of the envoy of Winterfell, the child King-beyond-the-Wall Aemon Steelsong and his aunt, the Regent Queen Val and her husband, Gerrick Kingsblood. Samwell Tarly was already in his solar, waiting to speak with him.

"What is it you wish to speak about, Sam?" Jon asked as he went to a bowl of cold water and splashed his face.

"You may want to sit down for this," Sam mumbled.

"What was that?" Jon clarified. He wiped the water droplets from his face with a towel and went to sit on the table next to Sam. He couldn't help but smile as he studied his friend's Maester garb and all the links in his chain. He felt proud of how much Sam has accomplished. When he first met him, everyone only saw Sam as a craven, a coward who was never going to be good at wielding a weapon. The gods were good in helping him find his way in the world.

Sam took a deep breath before speaking. He sounded very meek, and his face was tinged in pink. "Jon, first of all, I'm sorry for not being able to do anything when you got exiled three years ago. I had the King's ear, but he wouldn't budge in his decision to keep you north of the Wall."

"He must have had good reason to," Jon maintained. "If I were in his position, I too would have had a tough decision to make. I have been a King before, and these things are not easy. That is something between Bran and me, and we will speak about it in due time. And as for you, you've apologised to me a hundred times already through all the letters we've shared over the years. You have always been a great friend to me."

In relief, Sam released a breath he had been holding. He blinked rapidly as he wiped the sweat off his brow with a sleeve. "For true? You truly forgive me?"

"Sam, stop worrying about this. I've never blamed you. Now tell me about why you wish to speak with me alone."

At his question, Sam bent down from his seat. He looked flustered as he almost lost his balance. But when he straightened up, there was a triumphant look on his face. A heavy tome landed on top of the gleaming wooden table with a loud thump.

In front of its soft and worn-out black leather cover was inscribed one word in a golden script:

_Dragons_

***

**Arya Stark**

Donella Snow was frightening but meant well. Arya removed her riding clothes, and she was scrubbed clean from head to toe.

She was dressed in a pale rose gown made of velvet and silk, with a fur trim around the collar. It was simple enough though it was a little more revealing than the gown she wore last night. It hugged her form, and the top of her small breasts was exposed, not to be crude, but enough that it could stir men who had not been around women for a long time. Arya would have been hesitant to wear it if not for the fact that this was a common garb for her in her time as a courtesan in training in Braavos. Although she preferred to be in her riding leathers so she could run around in the wild, gowns did not bother her.

In fact, she could even feel comfortable in it, especially if she wasn't made to wear the constricting bodices. Jon loved it too, of course. He had unwrapped her like a present last night, before bedding her with all his might.

Her hair was unbound, and styled only with a simple Northern braid at the sides, similar to last night. And she wore practical fur-lined boots beneath her long dress. After Donella left her chambers, Arya fastened a belt around her waist, where Needle and the Cat's Paw dagger hung. Under her dress, she also hid dirks strapped around each thigh, just in case.

When she emerged from her chambers, leaving a sleeping Nymeria behind, she was surprised to find her childhood friend in front of her door, Lord Edric Dayne of Starfall.

Ned bowed to her with a friendly smile. It still surprised her even now that he had become so tall, so different from before. And his pale blond hair had gotten so long too. It was unbound today so that it fell across the middle of his back. It was probably the same length as her own hair.

"I wanted to request an audience with you," he said in a hesitant voice. It gave her pause to hear his voice again; it was so much lower than when they were together in the Riverlands. "But I didn't know the proper way of going about it."

"I would invite you to my chambers if I was still the little girl you knew," Arya answered carefully. "Growing up complicates things, it seems."

"Yes," he agreed. Inclining his head to the side, he gestured to the hallway. "We could just walk together as we speak?"

"Of course," Arya answered with a nod.

He offered his arm gallantly, and she took it with a friendly smile. They walked the hallways slowly as they spoke.

"Lord Gendry Baratheon...do you still remember him?" Ned asked in a light voice.

Arya blinked in surprise. "Yes. Have you seen him recently? Have you met his family?"

"Yes, he has a wife and a son now..." he trailed off. He paused and looked down at her with a piercing gaze as if he was studying her. "Did something happen between the two of you?"

His dark blue eyes looked almost purple as he tried to gauge her reaction. Arya bit her lip as she paused. She forced herself to answer, "What made you say that?"

"When the King had his court and was about to decide on who to send to the Wall to bring Jon Snow to the Red Keep, he volunteered immediately. Not because of Lord Snow but because he found out that you had recently returned to Westeros. He wanted to see you with his own eyes. But the king forbade him to go. He sent me instead."

Arya cleared her throat, feeling almost uncomfortable at hearing about it. "He must not have taken it well, the decision."

"No, he didn't," Ned agreed. "And suddenly, I remembered how he seemed to hate me before, in the Riverlands. I was still too young to realise back then, but I understand it now. And I'm sure you do too."

She nodded slowly but said nothing else.

Ned reached inside the pocket of his coat and pulled out a furled-up parchment. He handed it to Arya. When she looked down at the crumpled scroll in her hand, she saw that it was sealed with a yellow wax with the mark of a stag emblazoned on it: the Baratheon seal.

"It's for you," Ned said.

When she looked up from the scroll, his eyes were sad. Arya swallowed, feeling nervous for some reason. She wondered if something terrible had happened - if her friend Gendry needed to tell her something dire. She forced herself to school her facial expressions. She held the pommel of Needle and thought of Jon. She would have to tell Gendry about Jon. And she would have to show this letter to Jon too, no matter what was stated inside. She did not intend to keep secrets from her betrothed.

"You look troubled, Arya," Ned observed. "I hope I did not upset you. I'm sure it isn't bad news. He probably just missed you a lot."

She was surprised to hear him calling her by her name. In their recent interactions, she kept insisting on calling her princess.

"I missed him too," Arya confessed. "He was a great friend on the road, and even in Winterfell during the war."

Ned nodded in understanding, but for some reason, there was a shift in his expression. His eyes lingered on her and then drifted down quickly, eyeing her dress and the obvious changes in her body that had occurred over the years. His face coloured in bashfulness.

Arya was surprised at this, realising that he was a man after all. She always remembered that he was always so polite to her when he was twelve years old, and she was only ten. Time had given him desires, too, it seems. He, too, had grown up, just like her.

"Is there something else?" Arya asked, clearing her throat.

"There is," Ned answered. He forced himself to look at her eyes. "One final thing. At your return to the continent, there was a lot of talk in court about you. You are now of an age to be wed. It's unfortunate that it's too late for you and Gendry, but..." His whole face flushed as he rambled on. "Would you consider yourself to be wed to a Dayne? To me? We already know each other well. Your father was in love with my Aunt Ashara too. In a way, it makes sense. And in Dorne, you don't have to change for anyone. In Dorne, we value our women. You could be a warrior princess, and you could inherit as a girl even if you have younger brothers. You would love Starfall."

"Ned," Arya interrupted in shock. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the tall young man who looked at her with what she now recognised as fond longing. She would have realised it sooner if she hadn't been in denial. Perhaps she was always just single-minded in these matters: she always just thought of Jon, to the exclusion of anyone else. "I can't."

He blinked, stunned for a moment before he spoke again carefully, "I realise that I should have probably formally approached your head of house, King Bran, but I wanted to ask you first."

"Why would you even want to marry me, though?" Arya asked gently, not wanting to hurt his feelings. "We knew each other as children, but we don't know each other now. Not for true."

Ned sighed and nodded. Reluctantly, he answered her honestly, "I missed you too. As a friend, maybe. I always wondered whatever happened to you. And perhaps I had affection for you too. In time, we could learn to love each other. My own court is pressuring me to find a wife, and I know you will be forced into betrothal soon enough by the King or the Queen. We both have to marry, and to be wed to a friend is better than to be wed to a stranger."

Arya took a deep breath before finally confessing to him, "I'm already betrothed."

Ned looked stunned. He stumbled back, and he was speechless for a moment. A look of confusion crossed his face before it twisted briefly in a moment of agony. Gallantly, he schooled his features immediately as he forced himself to smile. "For true? I am happy for you. No one in the southern court knows about it yet, so I may be the first to know. Congratulations, Princess Arya. May I know who the lucky lord is? Or is it someone you met across the Sunset Sea?"

Arya bit her lip, feeling bad about letting Ned down. He was very courteous to her, and even if the smile he gave her was forced, she knew that his words were genuine. She knew that she could count on him to be a true friend. For this reason, she decided to trust him with the truth. "Don't be alarmed, but it is the man everyone knows as my brother."

"King Bran?" Ned asked in bewilderment before it quickly dawned on him. His eyes widened in shock. "Lord Snow? I don't understand."

"He was never my father's son. He was my Aunt Lyanna's son. His father was Prince Rhaegar." she revealed.

"But Wylla!" Ned urged. "Didn't I tell you about his mother, Wylla?"

"The wet nurse that you shared? The truth of it was revealed during the war. There is proof of it, but the secret remained with only a handful of people." Arya assured him. "Don't look too horrified. Nothing happened between us until very recently."

"I'm not judging you," Ned asserted as he shook his head. "I'm just surprised. I know that it makes you both cousins, so it is accepted. But you both still grew up as brother and sister."

"It's true," Arya admitted. "It's not very normal if I truly thought too deeply about it. But it's legal. And in the end, the heart is all that matters."

Ned looked at her sadly for a heartbeat before he nodded to her and smiled. "Then I'm happy for you, my dear friend. You have found something that not many will ever find in this lifetime. Does he love you the same?"

Arya had no hesitation at all when she nodded her head. Just the thought of Jon made her heart flutter happily. She found herself missing him even though they were only separated by footsteps. "He does. He was always the one for me."

As if prompted by her thoughts, Jon appeared from around the corner of the hallway they were on. His brooding face lit up at the sight of her, although his eyes narrowed immediately at seeing Ned standing next to her. He approached them carefully, although he had a fond look for her. His eyes trailed over her dress appreciatively, with a flash of desire. "There you are, little wolf. I was looking all over for you."

Arya beamed and went next to him. He mused her hair and bent down to kiss her forehead in greeting.

"And what a pleasant surprise to see you again, Lord Dayne," Jon said, in a measured voice, as he turned to the young man from Dorne.

Ned bowed respectfully. "The honour is mine, Lord Snow. Or shall I say, Prince Targaryen?"

"I told him," Arya mumbled quickly to Jon, reaching out to hold on to his hand. Nervously, she said, "You told me we weren't keeping it a secret any longer."

Jon looked down at her and nodded in reassurance. "Aye, it's not meant to be a secret any longer," He looked back at Ned carefully. "I keep seeing you around my little sister - nay, my cousin, Lord Dayne. I find you alone with her just now, with no escort. One would almost think that you have intentions towards her."

"I hope I did not offend my childhood friend's betrothed," Ned demurred in an apologetic tone. He lowered his eyes briefly in courtesy. "I will be more careful in my actions. I humbly beg your forgiveness, your grace."

Jon looked taken aback that Ned knew of the nature of his relationship with Arya. He quickly nodded in acknowledgment. "Forgive me, Lord Dayne. I may have overreacted. We should retrace our footsteps and begin again. Arya told me that we were once milk brothers in Dorne. Is this true?"

Ned grinned and stepped closer to the both of them. "Please call me Ned. Our families are more connected than you think."

Eagerly, he told Jon about Wylla, the wet nurse they both had when they were infants, although they were born three years apart. Arya listened attentively as Ned told them more about Dorne and its political dealings, how Princess Arianne was now the leader after she claimed her proper birthright from a male cousin who tried to usurp her for a short time after the war.

He told them everything he knew about Lord Eddard Stark's time in Dorne and about his great love for the Lady Ashara Dayne. He even told them a little about his uncle Ser Arthur Dayne, the former Sword of the Morning, and his great friendship with Jon's own father, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.

In the few minutes that they conversed with each other, the friendship between the three of them grew, as if they were mere extensions of their forebearers: Rhaegar of House Targaryen, the siblings Eddard and Lyanna of House Stark, and Arthur and Ashara of House Dayne.

***

The southern gates were open as the wildling and Winterfell retinue entered. The direwolf banner of House Stark was prominently displayed, yet it was the Regent Queen-beyond-the-Wall Val who looked the most splendid in the group of thirty people.

Astride her white garron, she was a beautiful woman with blond hair the colour of dark honey which she wore in a golden braid across one shoulder. She had high sharp cheekbones and eyes which appeared pale grey. She was slender, and she had a full bosom, unlike Arya's small breasts. Val wore all white with gold: white woolen breeches tucked into high boots of bleached white leather, white bearskin cloak pinned at the shoulder with a carved weirwood face, white and gold tunic with bone fastenings. On her waist hung a long bone knife, and on her head was a simple dark bronze circlet. She looked very regal.

Beside her was a little boy who looked no more than five years old. He looked very much like his aunt, with his short blond hair, his own dark bronze circlet, and a tiny dirk hung on his waist. His attire was very similar to the wildling regent queen's, with his little ermine cloak, a white and gold padded coat, and fur-lined boots. Unlike her, though, he wore darker riding leathers. He would have looked regal too if not for the impish grin on his face as he japed with his uncle, Val's husband, Gerrick Kingsblood. He rode on his own little white pony.

The regent queen's husband Gerrick was tall with long legs, broad shoulders, long red hair, and a red beard. He was a raider and the founder of House Redbeard. He had a son and three daughters. His daughters, who were not present with him today, were betrothed and eventually married prominent men from King Stannis Baratheon's retinue, and his son was once a hostage of the Night's Watch when Jon Snow was still the Lord Commander. His son rode prominently next to him now and looked to be of the same age as Dryn son of Tormund, and he was very similar in his appearance to his father, Gerrick. From what Arya heard about him, Gerrick boasted that he was descended from Raymun Redbeard, a King-Beyond-the-Wall who invaded the north but was killed along with his sons in the battle at Long Lake. Both Gerrick and his son wore green capes and brown riding leathers.

Riding behind the banner of the direwolf was a slender and exceptionally handsome young man. His hair was a mass of lazy brown curls and ringlets which tumbled over his eyes, which looked to be golden brown, big, intelligent, and lively. Atop his shiny brown palfrey, he looked very lithe and graceful. He was outfitted like a knight, with polished metal armour and a long brown cape. A longsword was strapped across his back. He wore a yellow surcoat with his house arms: two rusted longaxes with black shafts crossed, a black crown between their points. It was the banner of House Dustin.

Arya realised with a start that she was looking at Sansa's current husband, Lord Willam of House Dustin. Lord Willam was Arya's goodbrother. He was also the envoy from Winterfell.

The traveling party came to a stop, and they all dismounted at the same time. Knights and black brothers knelt down in respect for the newcomers, although Jon held Arya's wrist and stopped her before she followed their lead. When she looked up at him in question, his face was as stony as the Winter Kings from the crypts of Winterfell.

"Lord Willam of House Dustin, the consort of the Queen in the North!" a loud booming voice announced to everyone who had gathered in the courtyard.

Arya's eyes squinted for a moment as she recognised the voice before she gasped in shock at finding none other than Harwin, the stocky man who used to be the master of horse in Winterfell. He had also once been a member of the household guard of House Stark when Lord Eddard went south to Kings Landing to become the new Hand of the King. Also, Arya had been in his company during her time with the Brotherhood without Banners. It was truly disconcerting to see him once more after many years.

"King-beyond-the-Wall Aemon Steelsong and his aunt the Regent Queen-beyond-the-Wall Val! Regent King-beyond-the-Wall Gerrick Kingsblood of House Redbeard and his son Lord Raymun Kingsblood!"

There was a murmur in the crowd as they whispered about the recent change of Val's husband Gerrick's status changing from consort to Regent King-beyond-the-Wall, but the free folk retinue was stone-faced and paid the crowd no mind. The five people whose names were announced went to stand in front of Jon and Arya, and almost at the same time, they all bowed to each other in formal respect.

"Jon Snow!" the little King-beyond-the-Wall cried, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he looked up at Jon in awe.

The tension disappeared immediately as Arya found herself grinning in amusement at the little boy who looked far too happy at merely seeing Jon.

"How are you, King Aemon?" Jon asked with a small smile. He crouched down and opened his arms, and the little boy embraced him eagerly. Jon pulled back and held him by the shoulders, studying him fondly. "Have you been doing your lessons? Are you improving with the sword and the bow?"

Aemon Steelsong grinned and nodded eagerly. "I could beat you with the sword soon!"

Everyone laughed. The young King was very adorable.

"The man who fostered you for a time is here too, Maester Samwell Tarly. He is the father of your milk brother, Little Sam. Do you still remember him?"

The little boy blinked and carefully nodded his head, even though he looked a little confused. When Jon pointed at Sam, who stood behind him though, his face lit up in recognition, and he smiled broadly. "Lord Tarly!"

Jon stood back up and took charge of the introductions. Arya was introduced to Val, Gerrick, Raymun, and little Aemon. Arya was discerning of each interaction and noticed that Val's eyes lingered for a moment on Jon's face, and when she smiled at him, it was quite radiant and meaningful. Raymun and Dryn were immediately japing with each other in the background, for they shared a similar history of being hostages of Castle Black once.

Arya immediately loved little Aemon. He was not very kingly yet at five years old, driven to wild bouts of laughter and silly japes. She and the little king discussed a wildling game they both knew, and she would have immediately been completely distracted from interacting with the rest if not for Jon placing his hand on the small of her back and leading her to speak more with Val and Willam.

"I'm happy that Aemon likes you a lot already, Princess Arya," Val said with a friendly smile. "You are very different than your queen sister."

Arya nodded politely. "My father always said that she and I were as different as the sun and moon."

"I have always wanted to meet you," Val said, studying her carefully. Her eyes openly roamed her body from head to foot. "You are Jon Snow's favourite, from what I've learned. You are completely different from your sister, as I've already said. She has the classic beauty of the Southron ladies, but you look like a rare wild Northern beauty."

Arya's face flushed at the compliment. "You look lovely yourself, Queen Val. I have heard songs about your beauty."

She scoffed, although she was grinning conspiratorially with her. "All exaggerations, I'm sure. Now tell me more about yourself. I have heard songs about you as well. I know that you helped your brother in the war against the Others, and you had dealt the final blow to the Night King. But I want to know more about you. I want to know why you are so beloved by your brother Jon. And how you were able to overcome the insane repression of the Southron practice of making ladies into tools for bargain. A warrior princess, too, with a great direwolf like your brother. It's a wonder that the North didn't make you Queen instead of your sister. Discussions with her have always been a trial. Princess, you are a puzzle to even the Northerners, and I find myself intrigued."

"I will answer all your questions in due time, perhaps over tea in my solar?" Arya offered, wanting to be friendly to such a formidable woman.

Val nodded with a pleased smile. "I think I like you, Arya Stark. Perhaps we could even become friends."

When Arya turned to Lord Willam of House Dustin, Jon was already deep in conversation with him about the state of Winterfell. The young man was very courteous, and she could immediately see why Sansa liked him enough to marry him. Lord Willam reminded her a lot of Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers. He was handsome, gallant, and acted more like a Southern lord. He smiled freely and looked like he would do well in tourneys, dances, and the games of Southron courts.

When Lord Willam turned to her, he looked almost surprised at her appearance. He looked discretely confused that she was wearing a gown. Perhaps he knew very little of her. He extended his open hand gallantly. "Princess Arya, it's good to finally meet you, my goodsister."

Courteously despite her misgivings, Arya offered her hand and let him kiss it respectfully. "It's good to meet you as well, my goodbrother."

For a heartbeat, they assessed each other carefully before they both pushed through the awkwardness of their first meeting. He spoke a lot about Sansa and the great things she has done to improve and beautify Winterfell. In turn, she told him a little about her travels across the Sunset Sea. She didn't honestly know what to make of him, but she assessed that he wasn't very happy. When Arya asked about his son, his face lit up in joy. Lord Willam spoke about his little bastard son Gawen Snow with pride and longing. He had been forced to leave the babe with his aunt, Lady Barbrey Dustin, in Barrowton.

When the conversation between the envoys, kings, and queen ended, the newcomers were ushered to the recently refurbished Silent Tower. Arya found herself sighing in relief at their departure. She had been an envoy for Westeros in her travels over the Sunset Sea, and she knew that initial meetings with Kings and Queens were sometimes full of tension. Overall, she thought that the meeting today had been a success.

She and Jon were about to head back to the King's Tower to rest before the mid-day meal when suddenly, she heard her name yelled from across the yard.

"Arya Stark!" a loud booming voice echoed in the courtyard. "Jon Snow!"

When she and Jon turned around, a familiar stocky man went to them with wonder in his eyes. Cloaked in green and wearing brown riding leathers and a coat, he looked so much older than when she had last seen him. He was still clean-shaven like before, though. Harwin knelt down on one knee before them.

"Harwin!" Arya and Jon said together excitedly.

When the man stood, he had tears in his eyes. "I never thought I'd see you both again. Princess Arya, I haven't seen you since the Riverlands and Jon, not since you left for the Wall! And you used to be the King in the North! And Arya, what you did at Winterfell! I almost died when I heard it! You have both grown so much!"

Jon shook his hand and looked at him fondly. "I am happy to see you, Harwin. It seems just like yesterday when we found the direwolf pups with Father and my brothers. Do you still remember? And then you rode South with Father and my sisters. I'm relieved that you survived everything that had happened. I don't know all the details and wish I could learn more. Arya was just a little girl when she escaped Kings Landing. Mayhaps you saw it from a different perspective and could give us more details."

"I remember it all and will gladly tell you everything you want to know, from the time when the brat Prince Joffrey tried to stab Arya at the fords of the Trident to the massacre at the Tower of the Hand."

At once, Jon's scowled, and his fists clenched at his sides. It confused Arya because she didn't think that the events of her past before Father died didn't seem too dire, especially in comparison to everything else she went through. But then as Arya forced herself to think about what happened at the Trident, she began to feel uneasy. Jon kept asking her questions about the Trident, trying to compare it to Harwin's recollections from the same time. Harwin's voice was grave, and when he looked down at her, his eyes were wet and sad. And as she listened to the tale now, it was as if they spoke about another nine-year-old child. Her stomach plummetted in dawning horror.

Arya almost forgot about what had happened during their journey through the Kings Road. She was so young at the time, that she had nearly repressed all the memories years later. Suddenly, she recalled Joffrey with his golden locks and full lips, and the cruel eyes that had been directed at her. Prince Joffrey had been hurting her friend Mycah, sadistically wounding his face with a sword. Arya had hit him on the back of his neck so that Joffrey would stop hurting Mycah. And in turn, Joffrey had tried to kill her.

Whenever Arya thought about the events that transpired at the ruby ford, the only agony she knew was the suffering that her friend Mycah had endured from Joffrey, then from the Hound later on. She never gave herself any thought.

For the first time, she realised the gravity now that she was older - knew that the prince had intended to kill her with the sharp blade of his sword as he hacked and slashed at her small and skinny body. It was only because she was quick that she was able to dodge his attacks. Nymeria had been the one to save her, biting Joffrey's hand. And to protect herself, Mycah, and Nymeria, Arya threw Joffrey's sword into the ruby ford of the Trident. Sansa had scolded her in anger and immediately went to comfort her Prince Joffrey.

She realised too that Sansa had not cared at all that Prince Joffrey could have killed her. It was difficult to grasp this truth now. Arya almost wished that she remembered it wrong.

Fearing for her life and Nymeria's, Arya went into hiding with her direwolf. After three days in the wilderness with Nymeria, having only wild berries to eat, it was her father's man Jory Cassel who had found her. He told her that Nymeria had to go away for good for her safety. Arya was in tears when she was forced to drive Nymeria away. With a heavy heart, Arya returned with Jory to the King's party at Castle Darry.

Immediately, even without Father, she was brought before the King, the Queen, Prince Joffrey, and the rest of his court. Everyone had blamed her and ridiculed her, and when her sister arrived, even Sansa had lied to the king and took Prince Joffrey's side as if Arya was the liar. Even today, the betrayal of it still felt bitter in her mouth. As a result, Sansa's direwolf Lady lost her life that night, and her friend Mycah was cruelly and mercilessly murdered by the Hound, Sandor Clegane.

Arya couldn't help but shudder at the onslaught of memories from the ruby ford of the Trident. It was the first horrible memory she's ever had, among so many. She had forgotten how young she had been. Sometimes, she felt as if she was a woman nearing her fifties with everything that has happened in her life.

In response to learning more about this old tale, Jon looked utterly horrified at the fact that there were no repercussions for Prince Joffrey's attempt on her life, nor Sansa's disregard for it. Arya bit her lip as her heart sped up. It grieved her that only Jon had genuinely cared for her all this time. Even now, his grey eyes were full of sorrow. Arya went closer to him, and he held her close against his side, his muscled arm feeling warm against her shoulders.

Jon invited Harwin to his solar to speak some more, and Arya followed along. They spent an hour reminiscing about everything and Arya was almost embarrassed at how much Harwin revealed to Jon: about finding her at the Riverlands with the Brotherhood without Banners, her insistence of giving water to the dying men in the cages at Stoney Sept, and even the embarrassing tale of her time in Acorn Hall when Lady Smallwood had dressed her in an acorn dress.

Arya had ruined the dress when she and Gendry had wrestled in a fight. He had torn her dress and held her wrists above her head. The men had laughed, and Gendry had been chastised. Ser Lemoncloak clouted his head and demanded why he had dared put his hands on Arya, especially since he was so much larger than her.

Harwin laughed in his seat while he said this story, but Jon looked murderous. Arya wished Harwin would shut up, but it was too late now.

Jon's eyes met hers, and he appeared quite upset. He leaned down and whispered in her ear. "Gendry was already touching you that way when you were only nine or ten? A child?"

"I'm sure it was my fault," Arya shrugged. "I think we were only fighting."

Jon said nothing, looking very unhappy. Arya wanted to reassure him, but with Harwin in the room, she could only do so much. Their eyes remained on each other, and Arya smiled at him gently, melting the ice in his gaze. He took a deep breath and nodded wordlessly to her, but she knew that it was not the end of their conversation.

***

The Shieldhall was a feast hall of dark stone. In years past, when the Night's Watch was much larger in number, the Shieldhall's walls had been hung with rows of brightly coloured wooden shields. When a knight took the black, his shield would adorn its wall, and he would take up the plain black shield of the brotherhood. When a knight died, his shield was removed so it could go to the deceased's pyre or tomb.

Hundreds of knights meant hundreds of shields. Hawks and eagles, dragons and griffins, suns and stags, wolves and wyverns, manticores, bulls, trees and flowers, harps, spears, crabs and krakens, red lions and golden lions and chequy lions, owls, lambs, maids and mermen, stallions, stars, buckets and buckles, flayed men and hanged men and burning men, axes, longswords, turtles, unicorns, bears, quills, spiders and snakes and scorpions, and a hundred other heraldic charges had adorned the Shieldhall walls, blazoned in more colours than any rainbow ever dreamed off.

Today, all the brothers of the Night's Watch gathered with half a hundred knights from all over the realm and twenty-five free folk warriors of the True North. The representatives from the three kingdoms were there in support of the announcement that was about to take place: King-beyond-the-Wall Aemon Steelsong and his aunt Regent Queen Val, Lord Willam of House Dustin who was the consort to the Queen in the North Sansa, and Grand Maester Samwell Tarly who was part of King Bran's council.

All of the men of the Night's Watch knelt in the middle of the hall, even Jon. Together, as one, they recited their vow solemnly for a final time:

"Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come."

"But the night has come to pass, and the Others have been defeated," Lord Willam Dustin recited in a high, clear voice.

"Dawn has come!" little King Aemon cried out excitedly to the amusement of everyone.

"And now our watch has ended," Grand Maester Samwell Tarly announced in a voice that was uncharacteristically loud and sure.

"And now our watch has ended!" the rest of the Night's Watch exclaimed in a heartfelt roar that seemed to rattle all the shields on the wall.

"The kingdoms of the South, the North, and the True North are in agreement," Regent Queen-beyond-the-Wall Val bellowed, her voice rising over the crowd's chatter. "That from this day forward, the castles and forts of the Night's watch will be where knights and warriors from all three kingdoms will learn to co-exist. It is where friendship will reign! Where alliances will be built between our elite knights and warriors! It will always be filled with representatives from the three kingdoms!"

Arya, as the Princess of the North and South, and a recent resident of the True North, was the one in charge of having the final say: "Henceforth, the Night's Watch is now to be called by the alliance as The Gift like the lands around it!"

Everyone rose to their feet and shouted in joy. There was a lot of clapping, laughter, and tears. There was a chant that they kept repeating: "The Gift! The Gift! The Gift!"

Men of the Night's Watch were free for the first time in their lives, free to start anew: to take a wife, hold land, and father children. They could go back to their families and reclaim their lands and titles if they were highborn. If they were lowborn, they could strive to become knights and earn glory through valour. They were free to leave this place, as their positions would be taken over by knights of the realm and warriors of the True North. They were even free to remain in Castle Black, to stay as staff to the occupying knights and warriors of the alliance of the three kingdoms.

As Jon rose from the floor, his eyes met Arya's, and they both beamed at each other. Arya rushed forward in excitement, and he caught her and lifted her, holding her body so tightly against his own. In turn, despite the crowd around them, she wrapped her arms around his neck and rained kisses down his face in happiness. Jon was now free of the Night's Watch for ever. The only thing left for them to do was to go to the Red Keep so he could also be free from his exile.

"I'm happy for you," Arya whispered in Jon's ear.

Jon grinned at her and kissed her on the cheek while he still held her tightly. He whispered in her ear, "I love you."

"No," she said, grinning back as she kissed him again on his cheek. "I love you more."

***

After the merriment and celebration, Jon and Arya followed Sam down the tunnels of Castle Black. For someone so heavyset, Sam moved very quickly in his excitement. He would look at them over his shoulder from time to time, his eyes shining with joyful eagerness.

There were a series of tunnels underneath Castle Black called wormwalks, which connected the various keeps and towers. These tunnels were mostly used during the winter, when the cold and snow, sometimes forty or fifty feet deep, made it impossible to travel above ground. The vast library of Castle Black lay along one of these tunnels. It was the dim candle-lit library that they entered.

"Bran found it when he was greenseering!" Sam exclaimed breathlessly. "Come on, follow!"

He led them to the very back of the library, to a wall that looked like all the rest. With a look of concentration on his face, Sam felt the stone carefully with his hand.

"Hang on," he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment. In it were directions written in Bran's neat script. "Alright, the next one," Sam mumbled as he took three steps to the left. There was a painting of a dragon hung on the Wall, with bright silver scales. The silvery dragon was flying atop Castle Black. Below the painting was the dragon's name: _Silverwing_. Sam pulled the frame off of a hook on the wall and set it down on the floor.

Jon looked puzzled, and Arya kept silent, just observing.

"Jon, do you recall the magic of the Wall?" Sam asked.

"Which one?" Jon queried in confusion.

"The one where only those who have said the vow of the Night's Watch could use certain tunnels? Well, the magic here is the same. Only a person with dragon blood could access this."

Jon's eyes widened in understanding, and he nodded. The wall seemed ordinary, as Jon felt its rough surface with his burnt hand. With effort, he pushed the stone forward as best as he could. Nothing happened. But as he frowned, wanting nothing more than to dispel Sam's claims, there was a sudden rumbling sound of rocks moving together, as if Jon had activated a hidden latch. The stone under his hand moved forward, revealing a secret alcove in the walls, below where the stone had been.

"What is it?" Arya asked nervously, wondering why Jon's back had gone rigid. She could barely see over his shoulder.

Jon didn't answer. Instead, he reached into the wall and pulled something out. When he turned around, he was holding a dusty box made of old worn black leather with a steel frame. He went to the nearest table and put the box atop it. It looked very heavy.

Carefully, with Arya and Sam watching him, Jon opened the box. Inside, there were two large eggs with tiny scales that shimmered like polished metal, even in the weak light of the candles that lit the library. One was deep blue like the sapphire in Jon's Dragonheart dagger, and the other was a gleaming crimson like the ruby in Arya's Cat's Paw dagger.

Wide-eyed, Jon and Arya looked at each other in wonder at what they had found: eggs that had been left behind by _Silverwing_ at the Wall from over two hundred years ago.

_Dragon Eggs._

And they now belonged to Jon Targaryen.

***

Jon gathered every one of their friends and allies in the solar of the King's chambers, all except the envoy of Winterfell, Lord Willam Dustin. Every person who stood in that room were connected to Jon and Arya in some form: the free folk villagers, his friends from Castle Black, her ship crew, and their allies from Kings Landing.

"I'm sure some of you already have an idea why you've been summoned to my solar," Jon said in a firm, even voice. His face betrayed no emotion as if he was made of stone like the Winter Kings in Winterfell's crypts. "Some of you already know, but to those that don't, I owe you this truth, especially as you have chosen to follow us south of Castle Black."

Lord Davos nodded his head approvingly at his candor, while the rest looked as if they already knew what he was about to say. Only a handful remained clueless.

"I was born as Prince Aegon Targaryen, son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lady Lyanna Stark. And from this day forth, I have decided to embrace my true identity. I am Jon of House Targaryen," Jon announced. After pausing for a heartbeat, he reached for Arya's hand and twined his fingers with hers. He smiled at her gently before addressing the crowd once more. "And next to me, of equal standing to myself, is my betrothed, Princess Arya of House Stark. The North may want to disregard these truths, and perhaps even the court of my cousin Bran may do so as well, but it is the truth nonetheless. I have spent the last three years reflecting on this, and I have decided to embrace my heritage. I will always be a Stark, but I can not deny that I am also a Targaryen."

There was wild applause immediately from Tormund and Dryn, before a few others followed suit. Among them, a handful looked confused, especially Sam and Podrick, whose eyes were as wide as their open mouths. Grenn and Pyp looked bewildered, blinking as they looked from Jon to Arya and back again. But Tormund clapped the black brothers in the back and whispered something to them with a smirk, and soon, even they were laughing and hooting, happy for Jon and Arya as well.

Finally, they all became silent when Jon held up a commanding hand. His eyes softened at their quick response to him. It was as if he was still their king. Carefully, he opened the box that was resting on the table, revealing its contents to them: dragon eggs that gleamed wondrously, one like sapphire and the other like ruby.

"I entrust you with the knowledge of my dragon eggs," Jon revealed solemnly as he looked at each of them in the eye. "I trust you with my true identity. And most of all, I trust you with the knowledge about my beloved, the person most dear to me. You are my chosen ones, the people I have decided to trust in matters more important than my own life. And so I am counting on you not to betray that trust. What say you? Can I trust you all?"

As one, they answered him without hesitation, their honest voices ringing in the King's solar: "Aye!"

***

It was their final night at Castle Black. On the morrow, they would begin their long march to Winterfell.

In the King's chambers, Jon kept the dragon eggs by his bedside table, marveling at them as if they were his offspring. Arya was happy for him. She and Jon had spent most of the afternoon and early evening cooing over the dragon eggs, feeling its weight and carefully touching its scaly exterior. Arya even tried to speak to both eggs, wondering if the dragons inside could hear and understand her voice. She asked them how they had survived in the library walls of Castle Black.  Perhaps there had been another Targaryen on the Wall who had known about them and cared enough to keep them safe.

Arya was so excited about the dragon eggs that, at one point, Jon claimed that he was starting to get jealous. But she had only grinned at him, for she saw the same eagerness and joy in his own eyes. They both wondered how to hatch the eggs, what to feed the dragon babes, and how to prevent the destruction that had been wrought in Kings Landing three years ago. She hoped that people wouldn't be quick to judge the dragon hatchlings later on for sins committed by other dragons. It was never truly the dragon's fault whenever horrible things happened because of their abilities. It was always the rider's fault.

The dragon eggs made Arya nostalgic but differently than Jon, who was able to ride and fight astride Rhaegal during the war, like a true Targaryen hero. Arya's run-in with dragons was more humble and secret. She had once found gigantic dragon skulls in the bowels of Kings Landing when she was just a little girl. They had frightened her at first. But, as Arya had felt so alone in that great city, the dragons soon became like old friends to her.

In Winterfell, when the Dragon Queen arrived with her dragons, Arya was in awe. She never thought she would ever see real dragons flying atop Winterfell. Once upon a time when Jon and Arya were just children, dragons were nothing more than mythical creatures that they whispered about in bed as they spoke about old Targaryen tales in the middle of the night.

During the preparation for the War with the Others, Arya longed so much to see them up close. But when she finally built up the courage to do so, she had found Jon and Daenerys kissing passionately in front of the dragons. Arya had felt a queer and sharp ache in her heart at seeing that. It had confused her that it hurt so much to see them that way. She had turned around to walk away swiftly. From that day on, despite her love for them, Arya avoided the dragons, although she still admired them from afar.

Arya wondered what it all meant, now that Jon had found the dragon eggs - Silverwing's eggs. It was almost odd. Just this morning, they both dreamed about a childhood memory, where they had spoken about Good Queen Alysanne Targaryen. It was Queen Alysanne who flew Silverwing to Castle Black, and for centuries, there were rumours that her dragon left behind some eggs at the Wall.

Presently, as Jon was busy reading the book of dragons that Sam had given him, Arya took the opportunity to reach into her things finally. She pulled out the letter that Ned had given her earlier that day, the one from her friend Gendry. She broke the yellow wax seal of the stag, unfurling the scroll. Inside, she read his unfamiliar steady script. It was odd to see the handwriting he had developed. It looked rigid as if he had been schooled harshly by maesters.

  
_Arya,_

_The moment I learned of your return to Westeros, I wanted to ride to you immediately. I have missed you so much. I feared that you would never return. People kept telling me your voyage had been an impossible dream for no one else had succeeded before._

_I know that things did not end too well between us. If I could turn back time, I would have proposed to you again at the docks of Kings Landing and made you change your mind, before you left for the Iron Islands. Perhaps I should have turned my back to Storm's End and left with you on your voyage across the Sunset Sea._

_Although I am married now because I was pressured by my court to provide an heir as quickly as possible, know that I have never forgotten you. You are still in my heart._

_I long for the day when I would see you again._

_Gendry Baratheon_   
_Lord of Storm's End_

  
Arya's heart sped up upon reading Gendry's words. She felt as panicked as the day when he had gone to his knees and proposed to her. It worried her that he looked at their relationship as more than she had intended. She had always looked at him as a great friend. She had not meant to make it more than that. Perhaps she should not have let him bed her in Winterfell. They had both been so young. As the war loomed ever closer, she threw all caution to the wind, and they had fumbled in the darkness. She lost her maidenhead to him. And when he saw her blood on his cock, his eyes had widened in shock and awe. When the war with the Others ended, after he was legitimised into becoming the Lord of Storm's End by the Dragon Queen, Gendry had immediately offered to wed her.

That hadn't been her intention, after all. All she had wanted was comfort from a friend she could trust. She felt devastated for a long time after she saw that she had broken his heart.

"What do you have there?" Jon asked.

Arya's eyes widened as she found Jon standing next to her. She almost wanted to hide the letter behind her back in panic. It was absurd. She knew she didn't do anything wrong, but she didn't want to hurt Jon with the mere presence of the letter. She bit her lip in anxiety.

"You don't have to tell me," Jon said, although he looked inquisitive. "Is it from Sansa? Was it given to you by Lord Willam?"

"It's from Gendry," Arya revealed carefully. "Ned gave it to me today."

Jon's eyes flashed, and his jaw clenched. His voice was controlled and measured when he spoke. "What did he say?"

"You could read the letter if you wish," Arya said with a shrug, offering the letter to him. "I don't intend to keep secrets from you."

Jon's demeanor relaxed, and he reached for the letter with a look of foreboding. He read the letter slowly. His eyes were hard, and he crushed the scroll in his hand after he was finished.

"I didn't know that he wanted to marry you in Winterfell," Jon muttered. He wouldn't look at her. Instead, he was glaring at the letter he had crumpled in his hand.

"Are you angry with me?" Arya asked, feeling crestfallen that Jon seemed to be upset. She had intended to tell him everything else from today: Ned Dayne's own proposal, the requests of the whores from Mole's Town, and her lengthy conversation with her newest friend, Regent Queen Val. Those conversations would have to wait.

Jon took a deep breath before setting the letter aside. He picked her up easily and cradled her like a babe. Arya felt self-conscious as he stared down at her with his piercing grey eyes. With the light of the fire from the hearth reflected on them, his eyes looked almost purple. Despite wearing a shift, it was as if she was naked in his arms. It was as if he could see everything inside her, even what was in her heart of hearts. He walked forward, towards the bed, kissing the bridge of her nose. He gently laid her down and covered her body with his.

"You know what would make this day complete?" Jon asked as he hovered above her. His eyes were very dark and full of possession.

"What is it? Is there something I could do for you?" Arya wondered aloud, trying to gauge what Jon truly wanted.

Jon ravished her lips with his own, in one deep, forceful movement, taking her breath away. Arya moaned deep in her throat and opened her legs as Jon settled between them. His cock was already hard beneath the woolen cloth of his breeches. It rubbed agonizingly slow against her sensitive core, which became wet immediately from his touch and kisses. He pulled away and touched his nose with hers in a tender and playful moment.

"Let's make our dragon wolf, Arya. Here and now, in this place where they took my life away, let us create a new life together."

"A child?" Arya asked breathlessly as she felt awed at what he was suggesting. She heard the crackling of the burning wood in the hearth and looked to the side, towards it. She saw two direwolves sleeping, and on the table next to the bed, two gleaming dragon eggs.

And suddenly, she imagined it: Northern children of their own making who ran off to play together in the woods with both dragons and direwolves.

They were moving south of the Wall on the morrow, and Jon was no longer a part of the Night's Watch, for it was abolished today. They were free to wed, and have their own family - hers and Jon's, the product of the love they shared from the moment they had met in this life. They were free to be together for the rest of their life.

At Jon's eager and longing look at her, Arya nodded in agreement to his desire and beamed up at him. "Yes!"

Jon's whole face lit up as if the sun had come out all of a sudden. Eagerly, he pulled her shift off and quickly discarded his tunic and breeches. It felt so good to be skin-to-skin, with no barriers between them.

He kissed her everywhere in his happiness, from the top of her hair to the bones of her ankles. He licked her thighs between her legs and made his way up to her centre. His mouth and tongue were everywhere, and his fingers touched every part of her body in his hunger. Soon, she was having an orgasm as he kept licking her swollen little nub and fucking her slit with his slippery fingers. Her moans were deafening, and her entire body quivered as Jon took her to impossible heights of pleasure.

Jon took her that night intending to get her with child. Again and again, he spilled his seed inside her womb, in every way he could. He fucked as well as he fought, and his stamina had no end. If he had the ability to flood her with his seed completely, he would have. It was well past midnight and alarmingly only hours from dawn when they finished. Arya's cunt was a mess of their combined spend, and Jon kept himself inside her even as he was slowly softening once more.

"You better start thinking of names," Jon mumbled lazily as he mussed her tangled and sweaty hair. "I must have put a litter of four direwolf pups inside you by now. And two dragons."

Arya couldn't help but laugh as she tried to catch her breath. She was lying on top of Jon's broader body, with her head pillowed on his muscled chest. "You're a bit insane, Jon."

"You drive me insane, Arya," Jon replied, as he kissed the top of her head. "I suppose I should have asked Maester Samwell first for advice. Your body is so small and skinny. I hope your body is ready for carrying our child."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Arya muttered tiredly, her eyes almost falling shut.

"I'm serious. You know what happened to my mother. You are about the same age as her when she had me."' Jon said anxiously.

"You worry too much..." Arya mumbled as she burrowed her face against the skin of his chest. "Let me sleep now."

Jon's eyes were soft as a soft partly-suppressed laugh made his body rumble under her own. He held her closer affectionately, with his strong muscled arms. "Sleep well, my wolf bride."

"You as well, Jon," Arya moaned before her eyes finally fell shut, and she lost her hold on her consciousness.

***

Under the shadow of the glinting blue Wall, Jon Targaryen and Arya Stark were mounted on their horses, Shadow and Wayfarer, while their great direwolves Ghost and Nymeria flanked them on both sides. The direwolf pups were boisterously barking and wagging their tails too, eager for the journey to start: Vhagar, Ice, Dawn, and Baelor. Outside the southern gates of Castle Black were hundreds of wolves who awaited their wolf King and Queen, while behind them were an entourage that was over half a hundred strong.

With them were their companions from the True North: Tormund and the villagers comprised of both Northerners and free folk. Additionally, there were new members in their party: Arya's ship crew, Jon's former black brothers, which included not only Grenn and Pyp, but also Satin, who rode proudly next to his wildling lover Styr. Twenty more black brothers knelt that morning and swore fealty to join them, seeking to better themselves and their futures by becoming honest men who followed leaders they could trust.

They were joined by twenty whores from Mole's Town, the ones who had spoken to Arya yesterday. Most of them suffered for far too long as whores, born without a choice. Arya offered them a place in her retinue, and as the heir, later on, she could provide a place for them as cooks, handmaids, and even warriors if they wished. Arya had grown up in the Riverlands and Braavos, interacting with whores and have always seen them as people who were equal to everyone else. She had always believed that every person, no matter their background, deserved a second chance. Even someone like the Hound was able to wash away his sins after committing the most heinous crimes.

Their traveling party was joined by the entourage from Winterfell, led by Lord Willam Dustin who was Sansa's consort, and the envoys from Kings Landing: Lords Davos, Sam, and Ned, as well as Ser Podrick. Currently, Pod was singing a sweet and joyful tune with his beautiful voice, _The Roadside Rose_ , causing men and women to laugh and smile. Spirits were high as they all looked forward to the great Spring Feast in Winterfell.

From her mount, Arya gave a sidelong glance at Jon and smiled. How she admired him so. Jon looked formidable and ever so handsome mounted on his black horse, a great leader and warrior who had put his heart and soul for the realm they were about to reenter. He had a look of concentration on his face as his eyes scanned the horizon up ahead. He was dressed impeccably, no longer in the all-black attire of the Night's Watch, but in proud Targaryen colours.

When Jon was exiled, he had crossed the Wall as Jon Snow. Today, he will be emerging as his true self, the one denied to him since his birth: Prince Jon of House Targaryen.

Jon wore black riding leathers and boots, red tunic and coat, and above all of it, Valyrian-steel armour that had been brought by Samwell Tarly from the Red Keep, in addition to the book about dragons: all gifts from Bran. The armour was a Targaryen heirloom that rightfully belonged to him as the last dragon: it was black and was wrought intricately. It was detailed with gleaming red dragon-like scales on the arms, and its breastplate was inlaid with rubies. Wrapped around his shoulders was a black cape lined with a crimson underlay, and on his waist hung his sword _Longclaw_ and the _Dragonheart_ dagger that Arya had gifted to him. Around his neck, above his armour and close to his heart hung the direwolf-sword pendant, a tiny copy of Jon's gift to her a long time ago: _Needle_.

Arya was dressed similarly, although she wore the colours of House Stark, grey and white. To show her friendship with her new friend and ally Regent Queen Val, she had dressed in the clothing that was gifted to her: an ermine cloak, a white and gold tunic with bone flower details at the collar, and pale grey riding breeches that hugged her slim legs. She tucked her breeches into her dark grey fur-lined boots. She wore her own Valyrian-steel breastplate with the Stark direwolf symbol, the one made for her by her smith from over the Sunset Sea; in contrast to Jon's rubies, hers was inlaid with sapphires. It fit her lithe upper body like a glove. On her waist hung Jon's precious gift from her childhood, _Needle_ , as well as the _Cat's Paw_ dagger that had ended the Long Night.

Both Jon and Arya carried with them a dragon egg each, safely cradled in a pack at the back of their saddles. Satin and Sam took care to wrap the eggs in cloths and soft material as if it could break easily. When the eggs were revealed to their closest confidants, everyone was overwhelmed and awed, and a few had teary eyes. It was as if a rebirth was happening in front of their very eyes, with the arrival of new direwolf pups and the resurfacing of the dragon eggs that have been missing for over two hundred years. What this meant for them and the realm, they still did not know. But the emergence of the symbols of both their Houses was difficult to ignore.

As Jon felt her gaze on him, he looked over her way. His stony face immediately softened. In his grey eyes, she could see his everlasting love, the one that had been hers since before she could remember. Arya had never known a time when Jon had not loved her, and she felt overwhelmed that this love would last for the rest of their lives.

"Are you ready to go back home, my love?" Jon asked with a smile just for her.

Arya beamed at him, "I'm already home."

"To Winterfell then? To our childhood home?"

"To Winterfell," she agreed happily.

And then, because she was aware of their entourage - they who looked to both Jon and Arya to lead them - she turned her horse and faced the men and women riding behind them. Arya raised her voice so that everyone could hear her words, "To Winterfell!"

The grey direwolf banner of House Stark was lifted high in the air, and with a sudden snap, it began to flap in the wind. Arya could feel her heart beating wildly in her throat as a loud cheer rose in answer to her call:

"To Winterfell!" they roared in reply.

As one, they all began to move forward on horseback. They passed through the southern gates of Castle Black, while knights, warriors, and the free folk child King-beyond-the-Wall and Regent Queen bowed to them with fond respect. As they moved southwards through the Kings Road, the wolfpack joined them too. Men, women, and beasts became one formidable army bound by blood, trust, and friendship.

The long march to the capital of the Northern Kingdom has begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Thank you for your patience in waiting for this chapter. It's another behemoth, and I'm sorry if it hadn't covered everything you expected. :) I was busy with so much homework. But I think I have more time now to start another chapter in time for Christmas.  
> (2) I hope everyone is having a lovely holiday season. Thank you all for your comments and support! Let me know what you think.


	16. The Kingsroad

**Jon Snow**

Their traveling party had been on the road for a few days before they made camp close to Queenscrown. As their retinue took care of setting up camp, Jon and Arya rode their horses to inspect the abandoned tower holdfast located in a village west of the Kings Road. 

Jon told Arya about the time when Bran, Hodor, and the Reed siblings had trodden under its shadow in the past. It still bewildered him that he and his little brother were there at the same time before, but were unable to cross paths. Jon had been with the wildling party comprised of Ygritte and the Thenns; it was right before they had shot him with an arrow, which led to his escape to Castle Black.

As the sun was slowly setting, Jon sat on a smooth flat rock and watched as Arya skimmed stones off the glass-like surface of the lake, with Ghost, Nymeria, and the direwolf pups flanking her. She looked like a young maiden untouched by war, with her Valyrian steel breastplate glinting in the sun, flowers in her hair, and warm laughter spilling out of her lips. When Arya turned to look at him, Jon’s heart skipped a beat. There was never a day when he wasn’t thankful that she was home with him, safe and happy.

Arya went to sit next to him, twining her arm with his and leaning her head against his arm. They watched as the red and orange sunset lit up the holdfast tower on the island, in the middle of the lake.

They couldn’t help but speak about Good Queen Alysanne once more and the fact that she had once stayed there, in that same tower. They took out the dragon eggs and marvelled at its scaly exterior, one blue like a sapphire and the other red like a ruby.

Jon had read the book of dragons forward and backward but still had only a few clues on how to truly hatch the eggs that were centuries old. Was there an expiration for the hatching? Was it too late?

The one thing that House Targaryen used to do was to put eggs in the cradles of their newborn children. Did that mean that the birth of his and Arya's child would trigger the hatching of the eggs? That would mean that the dragons would have to wait.

"Do you think Queen Alysanne went back here with King Jaeherys? Just the two of them, on a secret trip away from Kings Landing?" Arya asked, with a meaningful look directed his way.

Jon laughed as he looked down at her. "Do you want to retrace their footsteps if they did? Maybe this is where they conceived one of their children."

"Maybe we should investigate further," Arya suggested with mirth in her eyes.

Leaving the direwolves at the entrance of a cavern, Jon and Arya used the underground tunnel that led to the tower in the middle of the lake. Inside it, away from the prying eyes of their guards, which comprised of Ned Dayne, Podrick Payne, Edwyle Locke, and Styr of Thenn, Jon eagerly pressed Arya against a crumbling wall and kissed her passionately on the lips. He thrust his hips against hers, making her feel his arousal for her, and causing her to gasp.

The smell of old earth and crumbling stone mingled with her distinct sweet scent, driving him mad.

It had been  _days,_ and he was desperate to touch her. 

Having such a large party and far too many curious eyes had rendered both of them to have separate tents for propriety's sake. It frustrated them both so much that they haven't had sex since Castle Black.

Every night, Jon felt like stealing Arya from her tent in the middle of the night and ravishing her in the wilderness, the wildling way. Thus far, he had been at his best behaviour.

Hand in hand as they laughed together, they ran up the steps of the tower until they found a dilapidated room with an open window that let in the sunset's red-orange light.

Trapping her between the bulk of his body and a cold granite wall, Jon hurriedly undid Arya's breeches, pulled down her smallclothes, and knelt on the cracked stone floor in front of her. With her fingers buried in his hair, he looked up at the dust motes dancing in the light around her hair.

”I have missed this part of you,” he confessed.

”And I missed _all_ of you, Jon,” she replied.

Jon grinned up at her before he pressed a gentle kiss upon the lowest part of her smooth abdomen, hoping that their child was sleeping inside. And then he trailed his mouth down lower, flicking the tip of his tongue against her little nub and causing her legs to tremble in response.

Arya moaned throatily, biting her bottom lip as she looked down at him with dark eyes, making Jon's cock twitch inside his riding leathers. She tasted perfect, and her scent drove him insane. Jon gave her clit an open-mouthed kiss, licking at it slowly while he slowly impaled her slippery slit with a long finger. 

And then he suddenly rose, standing to his full height. Looming over her, he looked straight down into her eyes with heat and want as he sank the same finger inside his lips, sucking wetly on it. Her flavour was delicious, and oh so addicting.

In response, Arya's eyes widened, and her breath caught in her throat as she stared back up at him. She swallowed, her delicate throat moving gently as her face flushed alluringly.

"You taste so good," Jon growled in her ear as he leaned down and nipped on her earlobe with his teeth. He ran his hands down the front of her chest and felt the cool Valyrian steel breastplate under his fingers.

A little disappointed, he reached around her instead, beneath her tunic so he could caress her arse. He squeezed the firm roundness of it, causing her to shiver at his touch. His other hand slid back to the front between her legs again, lightly stroking her mound but avoiding her clit. His voice was low and husky as he growled in her ear. "So lovely. I’ve missed your pretty cunt so much."

Arya bit her lip as her head fell back. She opened her legs in invitation.

"Want something?" Jon asked, with a teasing smirk as he lightly bit the base of her throat.

"We're in armour," Arya whined as she reached forward to cup the hard bulge of his cock through his riding leathers. "But I want it all."

Jon chuckled darkly. "Don't worry about that. You don't need to remove everything."

Her breastplate covered her all the way to her abdomen. It was a safety precaution. After the attack on them by the wildlings a few weeks back, Jon wanted Arya to always be protected at all costs. Valyrian steel was very light, and her armour was molded perfectly against her body so that there was no extra weight that she had to carry.

He urged her to remove her ermine cloak and drop it on the floor, pull her breeches and smallclothes down, and put her hands against the wall. As she followed his directions, Jon did the same, dropping his black and crimson cloak and unlacing his breeches just enough so he could pull out his stiff cock. He was so aroused that pre-come had gathered at the tip of his cock, getting the head wet.

Gripping the bony juncture of her hips, Jon pressed the length of his cock inside her inviting slit. The hot, vice-like grip of her wet cunt around him drove him mad with the need to conquer her. It took every ounce of patience to not ravish her forcefully.

”Make me feel it,” she mumbled in a throaty voice. “I want to feel you for _days_ , Jon, please.”

Jon could never deny her anything. He took her roughly as she encouraged him loudly, with breathy moans and a constant echo of his name. In and out, again and again, the slide and feel of her made him growl like a wolf in a rut. In his passion, his fingers bruised her hips as he kept thrusting into her, and she bit his hand hard as he tried to silence her pleasure-induced screams.

When they emerged from the tower, they tried to look as nonchalant as possible. Their hair and clothes were arranged neatly, but Podrick had a knowing glint in his eyes as he smirked at them both.

Arya had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed as she walked slowly on shaky legs, but Jon merely grinned at her, feeling pleased. He had no reason to be ashamed of wanting to bed his betrothed as often as he could, especially when they were far from prying eyes who had wagging tongues.

Eventually, even Winterfell would have to deal with them once they got there.

***

They rode quickly through the lands beyond The Gift. The Kings Road wound around rivers, lakes, valleys, and the roots of mountains.

Every night, as they ate supper after making camp, Arya made sure that she and Jon sat with different members of their traveling group. 

It was either the members of the nobility, former black brothers, former whores from Mole's Town, or their closest friends. Most of their companions were as young as they were, with their whole lives ahead of them. Some of the former members of the Night's Watch were orphans who were recruited because they had nowhere else to go. The girls from Mole's Town had similar stories. Most were born in brothels and had never had hope for a better life.

"Know the men who follow you," Arya said to him one night as they sat next to each other in front of the fire. It had been a night of getting to know the women of Mole's Town, and the experiences that they shared had been heavy and painful. But their bonds to the women grew, forged through conversation and time spent together. "Or women. And let them know you. Don't ask them to die for a stranger. Father used to say this to Robb."

"You remember?" Jon asked in awe. Arya had been so young back then - it felt like a lifetime ago. She had always been present in Father's lessons. Jon was usually lurking in the background, learning the same lessons with Robb, while Arya sat at their Father's knee. It was astonishing to learn that Arya had absorbed everything too, as if she understood what was going on even when she was so small. The lessons had clearly stuck, which made him proud of her. Arya was more than ready to be the heir to Winterfell.

Arya gathered everyone together one night before supper was ready. With her full support as she stood next to him, Jon reiterated to their followers, “This is your family now. Man or woman, boy or girl, you are all brothers and sisters. And you will respect and care for one another despite the life you used to live.”

”We all have done something we are ashamed of,” Arya added in a voice that held emotion. “The only thing that matters now is how we go from here. Jon and I will always be there for you. You should never hesitate to approach us. We are your family too.”

Soon, they were on a first-name basis with most of their traveling party, although they insisted on calling Jon and Arya "your grace." The oldest member was Lord Davos, of course, and the youngest was a boy of only twelve from the Night's Watch.

Gareth was an orphan that the black brothers had picked up during the war against the Others. He was very bright, and surprisingly always jolly despite everything that he had seen during the war. Dryn took Gareth under his wing, instructing him on how to assist Jon and the rest of the lords and knights. Jon decided to promote Dryn to be his squire and young Gareth to be his page. Other boys became pages and squires to the older men, and they all thrived under the pecking order.

The rest of the men of the Night's Watch went under the command of Arya's ship captain of the guards, Ser Edwyle of House Locke. The old knight with the scarred face was hard on them, training them, but also making sure that all their clothes and gear were cared for. The rest of the older men and women made sure that they did not bother the former whores of Mole's Town. And as they were advised, friendships grew stronger between all the party members every day.

Arya had similar successes with the girls and women. She talked to them all the time and learned about their strengths. Those who were more skilled in domestic tasks were put under the guidance of Donella Snow of Winter Town, and she taught them the ways of serving members of the court.

Those who had a propensity and interest in combat or defending themselves were given over to Sylvenna Sand of Dorne. The formidable woman got them up early, gave them bows, or rudimentary wooden staffs, going hard on their instruction. Every day there was a vast improvement in their skills so that soon, they could possibly serve as Arya's personal guards.

There were a few women who were traumatised by past experiences and needed a bit more time to heal. Arya gave them space, a ready ear, and a shoulder to cry on. Daisy Flowers of The Reach, who used to be a whore like Sylvenna, was in charge of caring for them and making sure that they felt safe and secure.

*** 

Once they were close to The Last Hearth, three riders met them on the road, wearing the arms of House Umber on their surcoats.

They were friendly and announced that Lord Greatjon Umber was about to ride to Winterfell with his retinue. With them were the Flints and the Norreys. Their group stopped and waited for the three parties who wanted to join theirs. And as they did, their horses rested, ate grass, and drank water.

The Umbers were at the head of the party that arrived to meet them. It was a group of ten people, followed by twenty more from House Flint and Norrey. Behind the flame-red banner of a brown-haired roaring giant that was wearing a skin and was carrying broken silver chains, rode the lord of The Last Hearth.

"Greetings!" Lord Umber bellowed as he stopped in front of them and dismounted his chestnut brown horse in a swift and surprisingly graceful movement.

He approached their party with a proud demeanor, dressed in traveling clothes that bore his House arms. His attention was completely on Jon, as if he had been advised on what he looked like by his men.

Lord Greatjon Umber was a large man, nearly seven feet tall. He was heavily muscled and was a formidable warrior, and he carried a big and ugly greatsword that was even larger than  _Ice_.

“Greetings,” Jon responded politely. He felt almost dwarfed by the gigantic man who stood before him.

Lord Umber knelt briefly in front of him before standing quickly to his full height. "King Jon, I am one of your vassals, Lord Jon of House Umber. You met me before when you were younger, but I served under King Robb during the war. I was at the Red Wedding. I fought for Robb, and it took eight men to subdue me and put me in chains. My son Smalljon died that day, as did my king, Robb. I was a captive of the Freys for years until," And here, his eyes widened in shock as he finally noticed Arya standing beside Jon. "You! You were there that day when House Frey fell. You were the one who freed the prisoners of the North. Who are you?"

Jon glanced at Arya and found that she looked as surprised as Lord Umber. He had heard about the Fall of House Frey long ago. There had been a siege at the Twins where Robb and Lady Catelyn were slaughtered during the Red Wedding. It was supposedly led by the Brotherhood without Banners, a mysterious girl, and a rumoured pack of wolves.

Everyone had assumed that the part about the wolves was only a tall story, an exaggeration because they wanted to make it seem as if it was divine retribution from the ghosts of House Stark. But if Arya had been present, she would likely have been involved as well.

"Is this true?" Jon asked her gently.

Arya looked up at him and hesitated. There seemed to be a war inside herself. Finally, she nodded slowly. "I was there. I took Lord Frey's life, but Nymeria, the wolfpack, and the Brotherhood were there too. We took the Twins and freed the Northern prisoners. My Uncle, Lord Edmure Tully, was among the prisoners as well."

"Aye," Lord Umber nodded as he looked at Arya curiously. There was something wistful in his gaze. "But you never introduced yourself, lass. I could see the North in you, but no one would reveal your identity. And you left so quickly with your wolves. So I say again, who was the young maiden who freed the captive lords of the North and the Riverlands?"

"I am Arya," she said almost too quietly. She looked neither proud nor valiant. In a way, she almost looked ashamed. "Of House Stark."

"Lord Ned's daughter!?" Lord Umber bellowed in a thundering voice before gasping in shock. His voice was hoarse when he spoke again. "You have been lost for so long, dear princess. All I kept hearing about you were your valiant deeds. They whispered your name in the same breath as your heroic brother, King Jon. But there has been no reward for you both for all that you’ve done for the North. And for that, my heart is torn."

Arya smiled in a way that did not reach her eyes. “Duty is its own reward, my lord.”

Lord Umber’s eyes softened as he looked at her sadly.

"I am no King, Lord Umber," Jon felt the need to add. "And Arya and I are not siblings, not for true. I will announce this fact in Winterfell."

Lord Umber gave him a queer look before he nodded slowly. "Aye, there is much to be discussed. The last I have heard of you was three years ago. You were exiled by King Bran to the north of the Wall. Has his decision been overturned?"

"I have been summoned to Kings Landing so that my punishment could be abolished somehow. We shall see," Jon revealed. "But how about you, Lord Umber? How have you been faring? The last I've heard of you was when you had just arrived at The Last Hearth, after being freed from the Freys. Your young son Ned was the envoy to Winterfell. He was a courageous young boy and was taken from us too soon. I was honoured to have known him, even for a little while."

"Aye," Lord Umber said gravely, looking somber. "I had three sons and two daughters. I lost my firstborn in the Red Wedding, Smalljon. I lost my little Ned during the War with the Others, and he was just a child. My heir now is my youngest son, who is only six years old. I keep relying on my daughters, and they surprise me every day with how capable they are. But I suppose such is life now, isn't that right, King Snow? The North has to adapt in this time of emptiness. Even women have to be relied on now, just like they do in Bear Island."

"Please, I am no King," Jon insisted. He wanted to say more, wanted to voice his support for the strength and capabilities of women. But it felt essential to highlight that he was no longer king to the lord of the Last Hearth, lest the older man gets ideas. 

Lord Umber was looking at him in amusement. "Aye, you keep saying that. But I was one of the bannermen of your brother, King Robb. And he announced to us that you are his heir. The pretender in Winterfell was never meant to be Queen. Do you truly think that the North will stand idly by while you are alive? Now that you are back in the North? You are heir in writing and a male heir besides! To Robb, there were only two choices after he had heard of the supposed death of Bran and Rickon. It was either you or his little sister Arya. And everyone knows that Sansa became disinherited due to her marriage to Lord Tyrion Lannister."

"That is treason, Lord Umber!" cried a voice behind Jon.

All eyes focused on a young, handsome man with brown curls falling across his angry brown eyes. It was Sansa's husband, Lord Willam of House Dustin. Jon almost forgot about him.

"Lady Sansa Lannister's second husband," Lord Umber noted sourly, with judgment in his eyes. "How fares your lady wife? Has she gotten a divorce from Lord Lannister yet? Is she still awaiting answers from the High Septon to get it approved?"

"May I remind you, Lord Umber, that she is your Queen!" Lord Dustin declared, his voice full of rage.

"It is an illegal reign. Your lady wife knows this too," Lord Umber smirked in a way that mocked the young man. "With King Jon getting freed from his exile, the North belongs to him. It has always belonged to him, for he is the chosen king. The North will not abide by a woman as its monarch when the true male heir of the previous one is alive. You know this in your heart of hearts, Lord Dustin."

"How dare you, Lord Umber!" was all that Lord Dustin could say. His hands had closed into fists, and they shook on his sides in his anger. But just as he was powerless in Sansa's court, so was he powerless in claiming her power in the face of someone who knew about the will. And yet, he suddenly smirked as he turned to Jon. There was something cruel in his gaze. "Are you going to usurp your sister, Jon Snow? A bastard claiming Winterfell from honourable Lord Eddard's trueborn daughter?"

"I do not claim to usurp anyone's birthright!" Jon growled at the younger man. "My purpose is not to become King again. The time for that is over. I was a king because it was required of me during the war. I do not wish to wage war against kin."

"And you, Arya?" Lord Dustin spat, turning from Jon to Arya. "You are to be your sister's heir, but is it your true desire to usurp her? Is your wish to be Queen? The way you dress now - it's as if you are the Queen herself with your fur pelts, house colours, and even your manners. You cover yourself with direwolf emblem as if you were as important as Sansa!"

"She is even more important!" Jon spat out in fury, his temper flaring. Once, when he was just a bastard boy, he had been powerless whenever people would dare speak ill of Arya, but he would never let anyone hurt her again, not if he could help it. "Without Arya, you wouldn't even be alive right now, Lord Dustin. Have you forgotten the War with the Others? If you ever insult her again, you will face my wrath. And who are you to criticise her clothing? She is the heir to Winterfell and the trueborn child of the Lord Paramount of the North. She was my heir when I was King, not your wife. Did you not know that? And now, she is the heir of your wife. She is the daughter of the North and has a wolf army led by a direwolf alpha."

"Enough, Jon," Arya muttered as she looked up at Lord Dustin with a steady gaze. "I have no wish to usurp my older sister, Lord Dustin. She summoned me, so that's why I ride to Winterfell. I would have stayed in the True North if not for the summons."

That shut Lord Dustin up, and he had the decency to flush in embarrassment at his behavior.

Lord Umber cleared his throat, even though he still had anger in his eyes. "We should make camp for the night. The Norreys and Flints are here too. I have a lot of things to discuss with you. This one about the state of the North, the things that the nobility are trying to neglect. I'm talking about the smallfolk and how they've fared: about the poverty of the North, and how this forsaken kingdom is about to break out in another war because of the condition it's in."

Jon stared at him. He'd only seen the conditions of The Gift so far. Because of Jon's loan from the Iron Bank before winter arrived and war broke out, the Night's Watch and the lands surrounding its castles and forts have been sustained properly despite the dwindling numbers of the black brothers.

"Lord Umber," Arya said, in a voice that held trepidation. "I would like to see the conditions of the people of the North. Is it truly so dire?"

Jon's heart broke at the haunted look in Arya's eyes. He remembered how small she had been when she had had to endure the hardships of being a child in war, starving, and alone.

Lord Umber's gaze softened, and his voice was hoarse. "My princess, I fear it is very dire indeed. The smallfolk suffered greatly during the war. And in the rebuilding afterward, with the high demand for taxes from the Queen, there is hardly anything left for them, especially with the spring thaw just having started this year."

"Jon?" Arya asked, turning her grey eyes to him. She had sadness in her gaze. "Would you mind if we make a detour so that we could see them with our own eyes? Would you be agreeable to that?"

"Of course," Jon agreed immediately. He wanted to hold her and take away the agony that he knew she was feeling. She had once been a part of the smallfolk, too, with no protection from lords. The knowledge that she had suffered like them was like a knife to his heart.

Arya turned her grey eyes to Lord Umber. "Lord Umber, may we do so, please?"

"Of course, my princess," Lord Umber concurred. "There is a village not too far from here. Our group could camp outside while we visit the village."

With the decision made, Jon and Arya met the rest of the lords and ladies who came with Lord Umber. 

Lord Donnel Flint was not familiar to Jon, but he had met his father Torghen when the man had gone to Castle Black to treatise with Jon about the settlement of the free folk at The Gift. Lord Torghen Flint had not survived the war and had left his son and heir Donnel in his place. Lord Donnel Flint was friendly and treated Jon and Arya almost like kin. In a way, that was true, for they shared a common link: Arya Flint, who had married their great grandfather Rodrik Stark.

The liege lord of the Norreys was still Lord Brandon, who Jon knew years ago as well. Like before, Lord Norrey was wrinkled and slight of build, but sly-eyed and spry like an old fox clad in fur and iron. Jon offered his hand to the man and, in return, was given an almost sheepish look as they shook hands. There was no acknowledgment that they knew each other from before, but Jon guessed that that was the best he could get from the older man.

"I was wrong about you," Lord Norrey croaked out before straightening and clearing his throat. He tried his best to look steadily at Jon's eyes. "Everyone doubted you before when you were the Lord Commander. But you went on to do great things. House Norrey stands with you, my liege."

Jon was taken aback at the candour of the older man. He forced himself to nod, acknowledging the other man. "Thank you, Lord Norrey. I offer you my alliance, even if there is no power behind my name now."

Lord Norrey looked amused. "You seem to be misguided and do not know the power that you do hold. It was the people of the North who crowned you as their King, and they have never taken away that power. You are by rights the chosen King in the North, by King Robb, and by your bannermen."

Jon shook his head adamantly. "There is to be no more talk of that."

Arya, too, was received well by the two lords. Lord Flint treated her like a cousin, offering her boiled sweets from the mountains, and old Lord Norrey seemed to melt at her natural friendliness. The three of them were in a pleasant conversation as they all rode towards the village. 

Jon spent most of his time speaking with Lord Umber, but the older man kept looking at Arya, his eyes full of wonder and sadness at the same time.

"Your little sister is a rare gem," Lord Umber muttered quietly, in a voice that Jon strained to hear. "How can someone be so small and young, and yet achieve so much? The North remembers. It has not forgotten her, not just from the War with the Others, but the events of the Crossing. And also, there was the incident at Harrenhal. So many Northerners owe their lives and freedom to her."

"Harrenhal?" Jon asked, confused. "She told me once that she was at Harrenhal, but don't tell me she also rescued Northerners there too? She must have been only nine or ten years old then."

"Yes," Lord Umber agreed. "She was just a tiny thing from all the stories I've heard. You should speak to Lord Glover about this. He was one of the men who were freed by this little Northern girl who we now know as Arya Stark. She had freed a hundred Northern prisoners from Harrenhal."

Jon's heart sped up as he looked up ahead, at Arya laughing with Lord Flint. It seemed as if he didn't know everything yet about his beloved girl. Everything that he was learning about her endeared her to him even more, if that possible. She was a true daughter of the North. Jon planned to thank her properly later. He couldn't help but smile to himself, feeling almost sly as carnal thoughts drifted through his mind.

***

They made camp on the outskirts of the village. While their companions built tents and hunted game, Jon, Arya, and the rest of the lords who accompanied them rode into the village. 

All the buildings were dilapidated and broken, and the people looked haggard, with lifeless eyes. Almost every person was gaunt, and even small children were sitting still as they huddled together for warmth, with no energy to run and laugh and play.

Their group was barely acknowledged, although a few of the stronger young men came to meet them, with angry scowls and clenched fists on their sides.

"Have you come to collect more taxes?" one of the young men spat, with rage in his eyes. He was filthy, and his ragged clothes hung very loosely on his skeletal frame. "The crops haven't even had the chance to grow from the last time you came!"

Another man was clinging tightly to a pitchfork, and his gaze was solely trained on Lord Umber.

"Not today," Lord Umber bellowed, in a commanding voice. "The Queen has not sent out a demand for taxes yet, but I expect to pay a visit again in the next moon if my calculations are correct."

"We ought to march to Winterfell ourselves!" the man mocked in reply. "We were so happy to see you return, but it seems you've become spineless! A craven! How dare you demand more from your starving people!? Lord Eddard would have never demanded such high taxes!"

"We pay to the crown, as is demanded," Lord Umber responded in a cold, even voice that was full of scorn. "I am no more happy than you are. Now be silent! You are in the presence of the former King in the North, Jon Snow, and Princess Arya Stark."

A hush filled the crowd for half a heartbeat before the shouting began. A crowd quickly swarmed around them, their arms outstretched as they tried to touch both Jon and Arya. Their horses became agitated at the push of the people against them, with their different smells and suspicious intentions. Jon was alarmed at how close their hands were.

"Alms!" an old woman shouted, her whole body trembling as she could barely stand properly. "Mercy, our King! Some food, please, Princess!"

Voices tried to drown each other: "Stop the taxes! Take back your crown from the usurper! Death to the Starks!"

Jon barely heard the last shout before a pair of arms dragged Arya down from her horse, her body disappearing in the mass of people. His heart stopped as he pulled Longclaw from its scabbard, the other lords doing the same with their weapons. In a fury, he shouted at them, "Unhand Princess Arya at once!"

There was a clamouring as bodies kept pushing against each other. Jon leapt down from his horse and shoved the wall of bodies, barely restraining himself from using his full strength against them. He went towards the source of the commotion, where Arya was pulled into. His hand itched as he held himself back from hurting whoever dared to lay their hands on her. 

But then, all of a sudden, there was a cry of "Unhand me!" and the crowd parted enough to reveal Arya in the middle, holding on to Needle. She had fire in her eyes, but otherwise, she looked unharmed. 

Jon's eyes narrowed, trying to look for the culprits around her. No one dared to look at him as he hurriedly went to Arya to inspect her face and entire body, looking for wounds. If anyone dared to hurt her, they would have to answer to him.

"Is this how you treat the Princess of your lands!?" Jon demanded in anger as he turned to the crowd who had gone quiet around them. "Lord Eddard's daughter!?"

"Whoever laid their hands on the princess, step forward now!" Lord Umber shouted, looking equal parts furious and mortified as he too dismounted from his horse. His face was red, his teeth bared. "How dare you do this in my lands? How dare you disrespect her?"

"Aye, it was me!" a man spat, his face red and his eyes full of cruelty. He stood far too close to them, and Jon had to suppress the sudden urge to punch him in the face. "What of it? Are you going to hang me? I just wanted her to see my daughter! My daughter lies dying in hunger because there's no food left for us! The queen did this to us!"

Jon turned to the man, grabbing the front of his jerkin and lifting him so that his feet dangled. He pointed the tip of Longclaw against his neck in anger and growled. "You would dare lay a hand on her?"

"Jon, stop! I'm not hurt!" Arya said, with a calmness that Jon did not expect. "I was just surprised by his actions. But you know that I would have defended myself if I was in any real danger."

Reluctantly, Jon lowered the man and let go of his jerkin. He still felt angry, but the man tried to avoid his eyes as he shoved his hands into his pockets in disdain.

"Princess Arya is not the Queen!" Lord Umber bellowed in anger at the villager. He went to stand in front of the culprit, his great size making the man squirm in fear. "She has only returned to the continent a few moons ago. She hasn't even been to Winterfell yet!"

Despite the ire the man still had, he looked a little chagrined. "Aye, but as the queen's sister, she needs to see the suffering of the people. The North is starving, and I'm about to lose my child!" And then, surprisingly, he covered his face with his hands as a loud sob escaped him. "My child is about to die!"

Arya sheathed Needle immediately and laid a hand on the man's shoulder. Her voice was soft and full of concern. "I will see your child. I will listen to your problems, to all your problems. And I will take all of this to the queen."

The man was so surprised at Arya relenting so quickly that he pulled his hands from his face, revealing tears flowing down his gaunt cheeks. His face twisted in grief. "For true?"

"For true," Arya promised, nodding. "Now, lead me to her."

Jon breathed a sigh of relief, and the rest of the crowd did as well. Arya went to follow the man down a dirt path towards a small dilapidated hut, along with the rest of the villagers and lords. His heart was still pounding in his chest, and he had to force himself to sheath his sword. Beside him, Lord Umber spoke to him under his breath.

"You must become our king again, Jon," the older man advised as they fell into step, following the crowd who tailed after Arya and the man with the grievances. "We need your competence. And you are the true heir, Robb's chosen heir. It is your duty. Your people need you. The North needs you."

Jon shook his head and said nothing, but he kept a close eye on all the villagers, mindful of their condition. They looked so hungry and desperate, and his heart broke at the sight of small children who looked up at him with dirty faces and lifeless eyes.

If the rest of the North had common folk who were on the verge of death and ruin, the lords and ladies who governed over them were probably not too far behind. If the queen had a high demand for taxes, soon enough, she would be faced with unrest from her bannermen. Jon was fearful that the North might soon fall into war within its borders.

With a heavy heart, Jon thought about duty once more. These were all his people once. Their lords and ladies had chosen him to be their king, and, in turn, these people became his subjects. And although his time as king was long over, duty moved him into wanting to do more than just watch idly from the sidelines. 

Although Jon was a trueborn Targaryen in name, his heart belonged to the North. It was where he had grown up, raised in honour by his adoptive father, Lord Eddard Stark. He fought, died, and became King in the North once. How was he to help the Northerners with Sansa as the current queen?

***

**Arya Stark**

The girl looked so much like _Weasel_ that Arya felt her heart breaking at seeing the child. The villager's daughter was no older than three, but she was so tiny and skeletal that it was so painful to look at her. 

Arya had seen so many people die in the House of Black and White, but never from severe malnutrition. Only during the war in the Riverlands did she see such suffering in children, when she had been a child herself. It was supposedly a time for peace. So why had this been allowed to happen?

Anger and agony coursed through her veins as she turned to her friend Ned, who stood next to her, asking him to fetch Maester Sam from the camp.

"What is her name?" Arya asked the man, in a voice that was as gentle as she could manage. "How did she come into this condition?"

The man looked down in shame, his face burning. "Her name is Mara, my only child. Her mother died first," he mumbled. "From childbirth three years ago, right after the war ended. We survived through the Others, but bringing our child in the world was what killed her. There was not enough food at the end of the war. I was barely able to raise Mara. My sister Alys had a baby, too, so she became Mara’s wet nurse. But soon, her milk dried up because of the scarcity of food. Alys died a year ago from back-breaking work in the fields because the queen kept demanding taxes. We give everything we have, and there's nothing left for us. My sister's only son died two moon turns ago. The only kin left to me is my daughter. And no one expects her to live. I want to give her all my food, but I have to work in the fields every day. But she has stopped eating!"

Arya bit her bottom lip, her heart pounding. It felt as if ice had been doused all over her. How could there be no food when spring had arrived? How heavy were the taxes being imposed? The numbers did not add up. The crown shouldn't demand from its people more than they could afford to give. It could lead to the workforce becoming weaker and the production of goods and services lessening as a result. 

She swallowed her disappointment at what had become of the North and instead gently picked up the small child from its cot and cradled her, mindful of being careful. In her arms, the child in rags looked up at her weakly, barely awake. She was so weak, so light, and so skeletal.

"Princess, the child is dying! You shouldn't be touching her!" a young woman shrieked from the doorway of the hut.

Arya turned her eyes to the woman and shook her head. "Little Mara is malnourished. It is not contagious." She looked around at the crowd that had gathered at the house, and even those who peered in from the windows. There was a lot of curiosity and confusion at her actions. Arya wondered if local customs dictated that a person who was dying couldn't be touched anymore. That made her sad.

Jon appeared in the doorway, his eyes full of concern. He went to her immediately, sitting next to her on the bed as he surveyed the child in horror. Arya could see the agony in his face, and she felt her heart breaking again.

"She is malnourished and needs food," Arya said to him. She turned to Dryn, who stood at the doorway. "I've already sent Lord Ned to fetch Maester Sam from the camp, but could you go with him too? Bring back any extra game for the villagers, and if we have any food we could spare, bring everything to the village."

"Aye, princess," Dryn said, nodding and hurrying outside to do as she asked.

"We will have our Maester look over your daughter, and he will prescribe sustenance that will help her out. I suspect it will be mostly broth. But you need to hold your child as much as you could - what was your name?"

The man was in tears again as he stared at Arya and Jon, who held his daughter between them without concern for their health. "My name is Robb."

Both Arya and Jon gasped at the same time, staring at the man. He looked nothing like Robb with his straw-coloured hair and green eyes. But he was young enough to be the same age as both Robb and Jon. 

Arya tore her eyes away from the man called Robb as images of her oldest brother flashed through her mind. The last time Arya saw Robb was at the Red Wedding, his head replaced with his direwolf Grey Wind's. She hastily blinked away tears that began to form in her eyes at the traumatic memory, instead focusing on the child that needed their help. She fervently hoped that they would be able to save the man's daughter.

Throughout the evening, Sam cared for the child. Arya stayed as long as she could, assisting Sam as much as possible. They gave little Mara some broth and told her father Robb to always hold her, comfort her, and even sing to her if he could. Soothing his child should be his number one priority. 

Arya was relieved to see Robb following their lead and advice, and there was no moment when he did not set his little daughter down.

***

The moon was already high in the night sky when Arya emerged from the hut. Outside, the rest of the villagers had gone to their own houses.

Jon was waiting with Tormund and Rickard Snow, in deep conversation as they sat around a fire close to the horses. 

As Arya approached them, Jon's eyes lit up, and he smiled at her gently in greeting. Arya felt her heart flutter, and she smiled back tiredly, feeling relief at his mere presence.

"It has been a long night," Arya said as she stopped right in front of Jon.

Jon stood and cradled the back of her head. He leaned down and kissed her all over her face, barely avoiding her lips. Arya felt her face heat up, mindful of their audience.

"You may as well go for it," Tormund remarked with a loud guffaw. "I'm used to it now."

Jon pulled away from Arya as if he just realised that they were not alone, and gave a sidelong glance at Tormund. "Don't say anything you might regret later."

Tormund and Rickard laughed, and Jon and Arya couldn't help but grin at them in amusement.

They made their way back to the camp, where they received plates of roasted hare, parsnips, and cherry tomatoes. 

Arya was exhausted and starving, but the sight of food felt wrong. How could she eat properly when the villagers had so little? What right did she have to gorge on this dish when Northerners were dying every day because of her family?

"You're not eating," Jon remarked quietly, from beside her. Their sides pressed against each other as they sat in front of the bonfire. His solid body felt so warm against hers. He was sipping ale from a wineskin, his plate already clean. "What's wrong?"

Arya frowned. "The numbers don't add up. Why are the taxes so high? If Sansa is doing repairs to the castle, as I suspect she's doing, it should be a slow and gradual construction. She should have taken into consideration that the rest of the North is rebuilding too, and spring has arrived not too long ago. The frost has only thawed this year, the soil only just becoming fertile again."

"We will find out when we reach Winterfell," Jon said. He looked exhausted. For a moment, he was silent. He looked sullen and agitated as if he was fighting a war within himself. When he spoke again, he sounded unhappy. "There is a lot of talk from the lords about wanting me back as the king. I refused, of course."

Arya blinked in surprise. She understood their sentiments, but it was more complicated than that. Sansa was the queen and their kin besides. If Arya had a choice, Jon should have never been exiled. He was the true king. With conviction, she told him, "You are my king until the end of my days, Jon. Whatever you decide, I will always support you."

"They said it was my duty," Jon mumbled with a sigh. "I saw small children today and couldn't help but think of you and what you had to go through in the Riverlands."

"That was a long time ago," Arya said dismissively. "I survived all that."

"Tell me everything," Jon said seriously, taking her hand. His eyes were sad, and he looked like he was almost on the verge of tears. "Were you as hungry as they were? Tell me, please."

Arya wanted to reassure him, to make him believe that she had been safe and well, and even fed. And yet she could never lie to him, even if the truth could hurt him. She looked down at their entwined fingers, marveling at the warmth from Jon's hand. She cleared her throat but found it difficult to speak. 

How do you talk about hunger? The hollow emptiness inside your belly that makes you dizzy and weak? 

Her hands began to tremble as she forced herself to speak, "I was alone in Fleabottom for many days after I evaded capture during the massacre at the Tower of the Hand. I don't know how long I was there. People kept stealing my things, and men kept chasing me into the alleyways. I didn't understand what they wanted before, but I understand now what they meant to do with me. There was a point when the hunger was so severe. I started to think: My lord father had taught me never to steal, but it was growing harder to remember why."

Jon looked horrified as if she just broke his heart. His eyes were wet. But as his hands tightened around her own, he urged her with a nod, "And in the Riverlands?"

She swallowed painfully and nodded back, forcing herself to recall the war-torn lands of the Riverlands. "I was traveling through the Riverlands with Gendry, Hot Pie, Lommy, and a small girl we called Weasel. We were living mostly on awful-tasting acorn paste we were taught to make, though Weasel and I also started eating bugs and worms. I tried to catch fish with my hands but without success."

"Bugs and worms?" Jon asked. His voice was hoarse, and his hands were trembling.

"It was better than the empty feeling in my stomach," Arya replied, matter-of-factly shrugging her shoulders. She felt wistful now, and cold. "The girl from today reminds me of Weasel, who I was taking care of. She looked so much like Weasel. I lost her during the war when our group got caught in an altercation. I felt so guilty about losing her. She was only three or four years old. I don't know what happened to her. I think that's the worst part. In war, you either hope that a defenseless orphan died quickly or someone took mercy on them and took them in as their own child."

Arya didn't know why her shoulders began to shake. It all happened so many years ago. Deep grief squeezed her heart, making her chest feel painful.

"Everyday," Jon said in a soft voice that held a lot of emotion. He cradled her face gently and put their foreheads together. "That was my fear for you. Before and after Uncle Ned was captured by the Lannisters, no one even spoke about you. It was as if you didn't even exist. As if you were only conceived from my dreams. Robb became King and died. Bran and Rickon were killed in Winterfell by Theon of all people. And Sansa was a hostage and became the lady wife of Lord Tyrion Lannister. But it was as if no one cared about you, no one but me. That was what made it worse. The most important person in my life was the one no one else seemed to care about."

She shivered once more, feeling chilled to the bone. Jon pulled her into his arms. 

Immediately, warmth blossomed inside her chest, spreading slowly down her arms and legs. Jon's body was a solid mass of muscle and bone, so strong and warm. Jon will always be Arya's home.

"I felt precisely the same when you were lost during the war," he whispered in her ear. "I wanted to believe you were alive, but I was so afraid. Did that make it worse for you? Every day and every night, the most horrible things happened to you in my mind. Every girl, every woman - all I could see was you. And when I found out that Ramsay may have had you - well, you know the rest."

Arya hugged him tighter. There was never a day when she was thankful that the gods decided to reject his death and grant him another chance at life. In her arms, he was so alive, his heart beating against her ear, and his breathing warm against her skin. He was so warm.

When they finally pulled away from each other, Arya felt better. She smiled up at him, feeling a love for him that was deeper than all the seas she's ever sailed.

Jon smiled down at her, too, before mussing her hair. "And now you must eat, my dear one. You need your strength. For you and for our child that may be growing inside you. If you want to enact change that will better the lives of the smallfolk, you have to be your best self too."

"I know," Arya conceded with a sigh.

Jon picked a cherry tomato from her plate and pressed it against her lips. Arya had no choice but to open her lips and accept the offered tomato. As she bit into it, the sweet and juicy flavour burst into her mouth. Jon fed her another one, and as he watched her, his eyes were dark with want. His thumb lingered against her lips, and, without thinking, Arya opened her mouth and licked it, causing Jon's breath to hitch.

There was a sound of a throat being cleared. Arya and Jon looked across from where they sat and found Lord Davos looking at them with an almost grandfatherly exasperation.

"Almost everyone knows," the older man muttered in his Fleabottom accent. "But there are some things better left behind closed doors, your grace."

"Just as it was getting to a good part!" Tormund cackled gleefully next to Lord Davos. "Don't be such a spoilsport, old man!"

Arya almost felt embarrassed but then realised that they weren't even doing anything too scandalous.

Sitting next to Tormund, her good brother Lord Willam was looking at her and Jon in confusion, not understanding what they were japing about. That sobered Arya quickly, and she tried to be at her best behaviour for the rest of the night.

When they finally retired for the night, Jon parted with her in front of her tent, as was proper, especially as they were amid Northern lords they barely knew. There was a longing in his gaze, as well as hunger. And yet, he was courteous as he took her hands and kissed them both chastely as he did every night.

"Have pleasant dreams, my betrothed," Jon said to her with love as he pulled out a wildflower from beneath his cloak and pressed it into her hands as he always did every night. "Good night, and I will see you on the morrow."

Arya's heart fluttered, and she beamed up at him before leaning up, on the tip of her toes, and kissing him on the cheek. In his ear, she whispered. "Good night, and I miss you dearly, Jon."

Jon looked both pained and happy at her words. He couldn't resist leaning down and kissing her on the cheek too. In her ear, his voice growled to her in a low voice. "And I miss every inch of you, little wolf. I vow to ravish you in all the secret nooks and crannies of Winterfell."

***

**Jon Snow**

They spent a full morning in the village, in which Sam instructed the villagers on ways to combat hunger, and how to deal with people who were so malnourished that they no longer wanted to eat. 

The entire village was relieved when Sam announced that the little girl Mara was predicted to live if her father Robb followed his instructions on how to revive her with broth, soft foods, and eventually a lot of milk once she was much stronger. 

Unfortunately, during the night as their attentions were on little Mara, two other people died. One of them was an infant who wasn’t even a year old; the child had been battling a high fever. The other person was an old man who had toiled all day at the fields and had been too tired to answer the door when Ned and Dryn distributed food to the villagers yesterday. Both died in their sleep.

With a heavy heart, everyone stood in a circle and watched as the bodies were wrapped in cloth and were buried under the soil of their village. There was no dry eye that day. The loss of both a beloved elder and an innocent child was a harrowing thing to experience.

Jon and Arya had a word with Lord Umber afterward, instructing him to cease all tax collection for the time being, until they had an audience with the queen. There were a lot of things to resolve with the crown, especially with the poor handling of the North's finances.

***

As they continued south on the Kings Road, they passed through one more village where the foothills of the Northern Mountains met the shores of Long Lake. It was much the same as the first village, though its villagers were more fishermen and mountain hunters, rather than farmers.

There were cases of severe malnutrition, too, especially with the younger children and elders. Jon and Arya listened to their complaints, Arya jotting down everything in a notebook.

Before they left the village, an angry mother took them to the graves of her children. "Look at what House Stark has done to my family!" she cried, with angry tears running down her face. "Their deaths are on your hands!"

Although Lord Umber and the other lords convinced her that Jon and Arya were not related to the crown and its policies, they both felt guilty. Arya vowed to seek justice for her, as did Jon.

***

After nearly three weeks of travel, they reached the edge of The Wolfswood. The dark green foliage of the forest made him feel a lump in his throat as he remembered riding there with Robb and Theon many years ago.

Jon felt nostalgic at the thought that they were only a few days away until they arrived in their childhood home. There were so many memories there, good and bad. Joy, laughter, and warm childhood memories were tarnished with the destruction that came from numerous horrid events that involved sacking, battles, and wars.

Jon thought of his Uncle Ned, who had told him that the next time they saw each other, he would tell Jon about his mother. That was a lifetime ago. He thought of Robb, with snowflakes in his hair when they last saw each other, and little Rickon, who was lost to them for ever. He thought of Bran and even Sansa, who both became the monarchs to the kingdoms of the North and the South. They were both so different now, so unrecognisable from the children they used to be.

Most of all, he thought of Arya. Long ago, in Winterfell, Arya never seemed to fit, no more than he had. Yet she could always make him smile. And now they belonged only to one another.

The gods were good to them after everything they've been through. All the roads they've taken have led them back to one another. And soon, their journey would take them back to the same castle where they were forced to part for the first time when they were but children.

When they camped that night, Arya looked uncharacteristically anxious as they conversed together in front of a bonfire.

"If Father were alive," she muttered uncertainly as she looked up at him. She looked away. "If Robb were alive..."

"If Robb were alive, he'd have likely skinned me alive for bedding you. Or locked me up and gelded me with a rusty knife," Jon said. He sounded both amused and pained. "He'd be so furious at me for daring to defile his little sister, _our_ little sister. But I think he'd have understood later on. We are cousins, Arya, at the end of the day. Despite the history that we share as siblings."

"You're right," Arya acknowledged. "It's odd that I feel worried about coming back to Winterfell."

"Is it because we're about to announce our betrothal to the North? And to Sansa too?"

"Oh gods, Sansa," Arya groaned, covering her face with her hands. "She's already so embarrassed of me. I will never hear the end of it once she finds out about us. I could already hear her voice."

Jon huffed in annoyance. "She is the last person I'm worried about. We don't even have to tell her. She doesn't get a say about who you can and cannot marry anyway. Your head of House is Bran, not her. And if it has to come down to it, I should still have a say as the eldest man in our family," As he said this, he almost felt ashamed. "I know that there is a conflict of interest. Being allowed to wed you off, and also being the man who wants to wed you."

"I don't care about all that," Arya said. Her hand drifted down to her abdomen. It was still flat, and it was still too early to tell if she was now with child. But in another week, if she did not bleed, that could be their answer. It was an exhilarating thought that they could have a child soon.

"As soon as I've announced my intentions, I will wed you in front of the heart tree, Arya Stark," Jon vowed solemnly, truthfully. "I've already married you the wildling way, but it's time to come before the Old Gods and the Northern people, and be wed to you that way. Are you prepared for it?"

"I'm looking forward to it," she answered, her voice full of hope and warmth. She smiled at him and kissed him on the cheek, causing his heart to skip a beat.

***

With only a day's ride away from Winterfell, their traveling party was joined by lords and ladies of Houses from all over the North: Burley, Wull, Harclay, Liddle, Knott, and Lake. They came in groups of five to ten.

The night before they set out for the final march to Winterfell, the spirits of the Northern bannermen were lifted as they gathered together to celebrate the homecoming of Jon and Arya.

Jon could hardly contain his excitement at seeing old comrades who used to fight with him side by side, at the Battle of the Bastards, the War for the Dawn, and the Battle of Kings Landing.

Old hardened men were in tears as they shook his hand, as if he was delivered by the gods themselves to them. The ladies who accompanied their lord husbands kept plying him and Arya with food and gifts from their homes as they knelt and offered their allegiance.

It was all reminiscent of the time when the Northern bannermen had gathered years ago, ready to storm into Winterfell to save Valiant Ned's little girl from the bastard Ramsay. They had crowned Jon as king then, but all he had wanted was to hold Arya again in his arms and tell her she was safe.

The nostalgia ate away at the pit of his stomach as he and Arya walked around the camp with Ghost and Nymeria, greeting each person and making sure that they learned more about them as much as they did the smallfolk followers they’ve gained from the Wall.

Not surprisingly, Arya gathered a lot of attention from men and boys, both highborn and lowborn, from lords to knights, and smallfolk. Even if Jon trusted her completely, he always kept one eye on her as he went about making small talk with his former subjects. He recognised the men who had, years ago, offered to wed her, when she had been known to them as his little sister.

Jon ached to touch Arya the way he used to nearly two moons ago, when they were both so spoiled with time and opportunity. He longed to have her naked and spread out before him as he claimed her completely, making her scream in pleasure. He was desperate to smell and taste and feel her intimate parts, to make her forget her own name as she reached a state of bliss that only he could give her.

He missed her with all his heart, and longed for the day when he could have his way with her freely, without reservations or judgment from anyone.

And he knew Arya felt the same.

***

**Arya Stark**

Their travel party had swelled to nearly a hundred and fifty people by the time dawn lit the lands before them. As servants finished loading their masters' belongings onto wheelhouses and horses, there was a murmur of excitement as she and Jon rode together with their direwolves to the front of the group.

It was the last day of the march to Winterfell.

"Men and women of the North," Lord Umber bellowed as he turned to the long convoy behind them. He looked each lord, lady, and knight in the eye. "We deliver the King in the North and the Princess of the North to Winterfell! Make sure that Winterfell can hear us and feel us before they even see us!"

Arya wanted to protest his words, and she saw Jon's eyes narrow as he seemed to want to do the same. But Lord Umber's words was quick to stir the emotions of their countrymen.

"The North Remembers!" they cried out as loud as they could, so many voices united as one. "The North Remembers! The North Remembers!"

Their group moved southwards quickly that day, as if each man, woman, and child was in a hurry to get to the Northern capital. Jon and Arya kept close together, riding next to each other at the front with their direwolves and the wolf pack flanking them. 

Behind them rode her good brother Lord Willam of House Dustin, Lord Umber, Lord Norrey, Lord Flint, and the rest of the bannermen from the other houses. They were joined by the Southron lords and knights, Lord Davos Seaworth, Lord Edric Dayne, and Ser Podrick Payne. And then there was the retinue of the highborn, her seafaring ship crew, their free folk friends led by Tormund Giantsbane, and finally, the young men and women who joined them from the Night's Watch and the brothels of Mole's Town.

When they came upon a ridge and found Winterfell looming on the horizon, both Arya and Jon paused, causing their entire group to stop behind them.

As if he could read their thoughts, Jon's steward Satin rode slowly down the column of riders, speaking to them in a loud, confident voice, "We will stop one last time! It is your chance to make water and let the horses rest!"

As the crowd murmured their assent and they dismounted so that they could take care of their bodily functions, Arya turned to Jon when it was just the two of them with their direwolves on that ridge, standing close together.

"This will change a great many things," she mussed with a frown.

"You will be the heir, as intended," Jon said, turning his eyes to her. He looked neither happy nor excited, and she wondered what he truly felt. "My heir before, and now your sister's."

"You know it never mattered to me before, whether I was the heir or not," she said, swallowing nervously. "I was always the last in line, the least important of the Starks."

Jon's eyes softened. "Nay, my little wolf," he said quietly. "To me, you've always been the most important."

Arya smiled at him, heartened at his words. He always knew how to make her feel better. "It will be for nothing if you aren't by my side, Jon. From the moment I first parted with you, I have longed so deeply to go home to you. I will refuse it all if you aren't allowed to be next to me."

Jon took her hands and kissed them. His lips felt warm against her skin. "I would hope so. I don't intend to let you go again, Arya. Letting you go on that insane journey across the Sunset Sea was the worst mistake of my life. I could have lost you, my dear one. I wasn't thinking straight. It shall never happen again. Wherever you go, I go."

She found herself nodding, almost unable to find the words to respond. She felt so much for him that her heart began to ache. "Is that a promise?"

"It is," Jon vowed earnestly as he looked up at her from beneath his dark lashes. "It is a promise I never intend to break."

Her heart fluttered as she was overcome with emotion. Jon was such a beautiful man, inside and out. She felt so fortunate to have him.

She lodged herself against his body, and he welcomed her in his arms. They embraced each other tightly, drawing warmth and comfort from each other. His familiar masculine scent made her shiver. And as he leaned down and kissed her forehead, her heart skipped a beat. She clung on to him tighter, wishing he would understand how much she loved him, how much he meant to her in her heart of hearts.

Home was up ahead in that grey granite castle, but not for true. 

They were already home.

***

**Queen Sansa**

She was almost out of breath as she walked briskly down the stone steps of the Great Keep. Her new leather ankle boots pinched at her toes, as she carefully tried not to trip in her haste.

Her handmaiden Marna had informed her in her solar that the scout had arrived only moments ago, bringing news that the traveling group of her little sister Arya and cousin Jon were only a few leagues from Winterfell.

Arya definitely took her sweet time in answering her summons, which was just as Sansa expected of her, although it was still annoying. The fact that Arya chose Jon over her was not surprising at all because they were always the closest amongst her siblings. But the gall of her little sister in taking over six moon turns before finally gracing her ancestral home with her presence was quite an insult. Sansa couldn't wait to hear what Arya's excuse was.

As she exited the Great Keep, Sansa found a group of gossiping servants and immediately set them to work: ready the banquet for tonight, the hot baths for her sister, cousin, and lord husband, and light the fires in the hearths of their chambers. 

She found Maester Wolkan walking out of the brewers as she walked through the yard, and went to him in haste.

"Your grace," Maester Wolkan said respectfully, bowing his head. "I was informed as well of their impending arrival. Finally, your sister is to arrive and will bring stability to your reign."

"Yes," she said. "And what of the other lords and ladies? There's been so many arriving the past day and a half. Have they been cared for?"

"Almost everyone of your bannermen have arrived, and from what I've heard from the scout, it seems as if the rest of the ones from closer to the Wall have joined Princess Arya and Jon Snow in their journey towards Winterfell."

"And Lord Manderly?" she asked nervously, feeling the most pressure to appease him since he was her biggest benefactor.

"He seems pleased with his accommodations," he answered. "But, he is eager to meet Lord Jon and Princess Arya as well."

Sansa frowned, wondering if the old lord was scheming something. Petyr Baelish had taught her to anticipate what others were planning all the time. And although Lord Manderly was an ally, she could never truly trust him. "Maester Wolkan, what are your honest thoughts on him?"

He cleared his throat, looking hesitant. "I think he is an honourable man and wants what is best for the North. But I think he plans to win Princess Arya over. He has brought his nephew Gwayne Manderly, his cousin Ser Marlon's son. He is of an age with Princess Arya."

"I see," Sansa replied. "I'm happy that my sister is receiving a lot of offers of betrothal. This will make it easier for her and for me. She is bound to find a man who will be to her liking with so many choices. Hopefully, this young lord that Lord Manderly has brought is agreeable with her."

"There is also the Lord of Starfall," Maester Wolkan suggested. "I have heard that they have a shared history together when they were children. He is said to be traveling with Arya and Jon right now. King Bran sent him to bring Lord Jon to the Red Keep."

Sansa nodded in satisfaction. "It is as Theon once told me. A hundred men will want to marry her. I hope to announce a match with her soon while the Northern bannermen are in Winterfell. I will take into consideration her preferences, but ultimately, I must make a decision for the good of the North."

"Aye, your grace," he agreed, inclining his head forward with respect. "And she will have to follow your decision as your heir."

***

Sansa paid a quick visit to the kitchens, appraising the mountains of roasting meat and potatoes, baking bread and pies, and the vats of ale and cider being poured into jugs. From there, she finally went to the courtyard after a servant went to fetch her.

She was accompanied by her good aunt, Lady Barbrey Dustin of Barrowton. In the absence of her siblings, she had taken Petyr’s place as Sansa’s closest confidant despite her confidence in her own political abilities.

Lady Barbrey was tall, unbent, and handsome with wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, and her hair was equal parts brown and grey. As usual, she wore her hair tied behind her head in a widow's knot, and she was dressed all in black, her gown with a high stiff collar.

Behind her, in the arms of his nursemaid, was the bastard of Winterfell, Gawen Snow, who was the illegitimate son of Sansa's lord husband, Willam. He was dressed like a little lord today in the presence of his great aunt Lady Barbrey, in the colours of House Dustin.

Sansa eyed the child quietly, feeling embarrassed at its presence as usual. Gawen Snow will for ever remind her of her lord husband's stupid illicit affair with a brothel wench, and like her lady mother, Sansa has had to suffer the humiliation of the boy's presence in her court. What made it worse for her was that she had no children of her own. Sansa had not inherited her lady mother's propensity for having countless Stark children year after year.

It was the worst thing that a woman could be guilty of, not being able to do what they were meant to do. And because of it, it was as if her people couldn't love her despite being like a Queen from the songs. Sansa knew she was as graceful and beautiful as the Targaryen queens of old, and even responsible, like Bran the Builder from the old stories.

One day, history would remember her for rebuilding the ruins of Winterfell. Under her rule, she was able to restore it to its former glory from its horrid state of rubble and ruin during the war. And she did it as quickly as she could, in less than three years!

As she approached the courtyard to wait for Arya and Jon, she watched the crowd that had gathered. Every lord and lady of the North seemed to have come out of their chambers, dressed in their best finery. From the Glovers who had morose expressions on their faces, the rough-spoken women warriors of the Mormonts who always seemed to look at her with judgment, the Manderlys who wore the finest clothing but were full of ambition, the Thenns whose Karstark Lady had sadly and unfortunately been wed to a wildling by none other than her cousin Jon Snow, and even Lord Reed who had almost refused to bow to her when she met him for the first time yesterday.

The servants and the smallfolk were there as well, with eager and excited expressions, in contrast to the regular grimness they usually wore on their faces. Each man, woman, and child seemed to hold their breath in anticipation. Most of them were clutching on to bundles of flowers as if they remembered Arya's love for them as a child, when she still lived in Winterfell.

Sansa was greatly reminded of two events from her past, one with King Robert and Queen Cersei coming to meet her lord father when she was only eleven years old. Prince Joffrey had pierced her heart that day, and made her act like a foolish girl in love. She also first glanced Ser Sandor Clegane in his dog helm; she went on to become fond of him many moon turns later. 

It had been a great procession with Southron knights in glinting armour, exquisite ladies from the capital with their feminine graces, and beautiful golden-haired royal children. She was so excited to meet them and make friends with them. It was as if they had come out of old tales of bravery and beautiful songs of love.

She also recollected the time when the Dragon Queen rode into Winterfell with Jon, both of them riding together side by side as if they were the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Dragons flew overhead, and great armies from Essos marched in columns with them.

Sansa had tried to be civil and conduct her affairs with the Dragon Queen with her courtesies, but she could never trust her, just as she lost faith in Jon. After all, Jon had knelt to the Dragon Queen without even consulting their bannermen. He proved himself as weak as any man in the face of a beautiful woman. Northern independence was lost overnight.

Today though, it was a different sort of mood that they all felt. After all, Jon and Arya were both from Winterfell, both considered a son and daughter of Lord Eddard Stark. Their long absence made the people grow even fonder of them. 

They were also the heroes of the Wars of Ice and Fire, one to bring the dawn after the Long Night and the other to end the tyrannical reign of fire and blood.

It sometimes felt unfair that they had so many accomplishments to be celebrated between the two of them. It was almost as if Jon and Arya were bigger than what they truly were, even if Sansa knew them differently. To her, they were merely the fallible siblings she grew up with, mere humans who made as many mistakes as she had made when she was younger.

Sansa had to tamp down her envy at how much they were worshipped as she watched the eagerness of the adoring crowd. Compared to Jon and Arya, Sansa truly believed that she was the better politician, having been trained by Petyr Baelish himself and being the Queen in the North for three years while they were off enjoying themselves away from responsibility far away. That was why the North chose her as the Queen at the end of the war, Lord Eddard Stark's trueborn eldest daughter.

She felt it before she heard it, a great thundering sound coming from the Northern gates, as if war drums were being pounded steadily in time to a march. There was a cry from some children who, like Bran when he had been a child, were clinging on to the ledge of a tower.

"They're here! They're inside the walls of the Castle!" a young boy cried out excitedly.

The people around her whispered excitedly, and Sansa's heart began to pound so quickly, she almost felt sick inside her stomach. She was eager to see them, but she felt nervous as well. They were not children anymore, far from it. She hasn't seen her kin for three years, but it felt like a lifetime. 

Have they changed? Was Arya prepared to take on her duties as Sansa's heir? Has Jon forgiven her broken vow of secrecy?

 _Everything I've done has always been for the common good,_ Sansa reasoned to herself as she remembered the vow of secrecy she had made to Jon in front of the weirwood. _I had to make the difficult decisions for House Stark._

There was a cheer further down, towards the inner gates closer to the Great Keep. Excited shouts and happy cries from the smallfolk echoed inside the walls of the courtyard.

And then suddenly, a great pack entered the open gate, with over a hundred of them marching in a steady column as if they were coming home from a victorious win at a battle. Flower petals began to rain down from the high windows of the Great Keep as well as several towers.

Sansa gasped, her eyes widening unbecomingly as she was overcome by the sight and sounds of Jon and Arya's entourage.

The great big direwolves Ghost and Nymeria led a pack of a hundred smaller wolves. More than a hundred men and women followed behind them, with raised House banners from all over the North. The steady beat of drums from the procession was deafening as it seemed to beat alongside her heart. And when a horn was suddenly blown so loudly to signify their arrival, the wolves and direwolves howled as well, their song as deafening as a dragon’s roar. Sansa felt chills running down her arms.

But her attention was only on Jon and Arya, who led that great procession.

Jon Snow and Arya Stark arrived during that bright afternoon as the sky was bathed in reds and purples. The grey direwolf Stark banner was raised high and was flapping in the wind in front of them as over two hundred armed men, women, and wolves trailed behind them: wildling, Northerners, and an odd mix of Southern folk and foreigners in their numbers. Jon and Arya rode closely together at the front, oddly reminding Sansa once again of old Kings and Queens.

As Sansa peered closer as they approached her, she could see that Jon looked so much younger than when she’d last seen him, unlike what he used to look like during the war. His beard had been shaved clean from his face, giving him a youthful appearance. He also looked more peaceful, probably because he was no longer burdened by duty. 

There was almost a hint of joy in his countenance as he kept looking at Arya by his side, obviously pleased that she had gone straight to him after her return to Westeros. They have always been close and had always been so annoyingly fond of each other, with open affection unlike the rest of their siblings. It was quite vexing, but she had learned long ago to ignore their antics.

Between the two of them, it was Arya who had changed immensely. She, too, looked serene, and she was surprisingly quite pretty as she was finally at the flower of her youth. She finally grew into a lovely child-woman, and even made an effort to look put-together today, which relieved Sansa immensely. Arya's would-be suitors were all watching her right now.

Sansa studied them further, narrowing her eyes at their clothing. Jon was dressed in armour, clothing, and cloak in the unmistakable colours of House Targaryen as he rode atop his black horse. Meanwhile, Arya looked like a true Northern Princess atop her white horse as she wore grey riding breeches that hugged her slim legs, a white and gold tunic, an ermine cloak, and a form-fitting breastplate that showed off her skinny waist. Her hair had been braided in a Northern style that made her look like a warrior princess.

She could hear the awed sighs and whispers of their people. Flowers were being showered in Arya's direction not just from windows above but from the sides as the smallfolk fawned at seeing her and Jon. It was unmistakably a hero's welcome for the children of Winterfell who had been absent for too long.

“Princess Arya has grown,” some whispered, while others said: “Daughter of the North! Lyanna Reborn! Night Kingslayer! Valiant Ned’s daughter!”

Sansa tampered down an odd pang of jealousy at their vocal support for her sister because she too felt happy to see her. It was a good thing for Arya to have finally grown into her looks, and learn to be a woman despite being so far away from court for so long.

For as long as she’s been alive, Sansa had always been called the most beautiful. But she wanted to think that she was gracious and kind enough to not begrudge the smallfolk for comparing Arya to their aunt, Lyanna Stark. It could prove an advantage as she sought matches for her little sister.

To Jon, they cried, “Jon Snow! The White Wolf! Bringer of the Dawn! Saviour from the fire! The King in the North!”

Sansa felt daunted at merely hearing their reaction to Jon. She took a deep breath in frustration even as she kept her face pleasant. It was difficult to not feel insulted as she was made to listen to their traitorous words. Did they not know that their Queen could hear them?

Her eyes briefly met Jon and Arya’s as they both halted their horses before her. Grey eyes, like her lord father's. Their familiar Northern faces caused a pang of hurt in her belly. She felt a wave of sudden anger towards them for leaving her alone to deal with the mess of the North for so long.

But what negative feelings that had coursed through her veins died down a little as she noticed the familiar large forms of Ghost and Nymeria stalking forward to stand guard by their masters' sides. And around them: four young pups who reminded her of her own direwolf pup from a lifetime ago.

Her heart seemed to skip a beat as she saw the pups jumping and running around Ghost and Nymeria’s sentinel forms, wagging their tails excitedly, and sniffing the air curiously as they panted with their tongues sticking out. It was an adorable little brood. But she was seized with a thought.

_Did Ghost and Nymeria mate at their reunion?_

It was a bit disconcerting to know because the direwolves were siblings – this was an abomination in the eyes of the gods. But then again, they were, after all, just beasts and were only doing what their instincts demanded, especially since they were the only known direwolves left. 

Sansa finally understood the reason for Arya's tardiness at least. At Nymeria’s gestation and the birth of her litter many moons ago, her little sister couldn’t just leave when the direwolf pups were still so small and unfit to travel. But Arya should have still informed her about it!

Again, Sansa looked at her sister and her cousin, taking in their appearance. Together, they looked beautiful in their own right as they swiftly and gracefully dismounted and stood next to each other as they faced her. They looked like a King and Queen in their own right with their armours gilded in rubies and sapphires glinting in the sunset's light, one from House Targaryen and the other from House Stark. It was an absurd comparison, of course.

And yet, they looked as if they were from the songs, especially with their giant direwolves next to them, their armies and followers behind them, and the fawning Northerners showering them with clapping, cheers, and flowers.

It was difficult to contain the near-envy coursing through her veins. It was as if Jon and Arya were loved so much more than her. But it was tempered by pride for them too for they were her family, her own kin.

As they walked forward together hand in hand and finally stopped in front of Sansa, a tall, hulking and bearded man dressed in all black stepped away from the column of Jon and Arya's retinue. 

In a thunderous voice that echoed and reverberated inside the walls of the courtyard, he announced to all of Winterfell:

"The former King Jon Snow and Princess Arya Stark of Winterfell!"

To Sansa's complete disbelief, every man, woman, and child were immediately on their knees in respect, their heads bowed as if they were in the presence of gods themselves - every person except her.

Her heart seized in a moment of terror, and she felt a chill running down her spine. She felt so overwhelmed at the mere presence of the heroes of the wars of Ice and Fire. Their grey eyes burned as they stared at her with neither warmth nor familiarity.

_Have I been mistaken in bringing them back to Winterfell?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long hiatus. I've been busy over the holidays, travel, and Jonrya Week has distracted me a bit. But I'm actively writing again. Hope this suffices. It's a closer look at how the North is truly faring.
> 
> Also finally, everyone is now in Winterfell!
> 
> Let me know your thoughts!


	17. Winterfell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Explicit content at the end of the chapter. (Arya POV)

**Jon Snow**

After a three week journey through the many leagues that separated Winterfell and the Wall, they finally reached the castle town of the Northern Kingdom.

Its appearance from three years ago changed drastically, like night and day. What was once rubble and ruin had been hurriedly restored to its former glory, with the solid grey granite walls towering high above, and a great many and more new stone buildings constructed to replace the irreparable ones. The grey direwolf banner of House Stark hung proudly at the gates, the walls, and the towers.

Through the winding streets of Winter Town, as they rode towards the castle, Spring banners in greens and pinks were hung above, between the flowering trees that rained down pale petals over their heads.

Flanked on both sides of the streets were countless smallfolk who came out to greet them. They looked at them with excitement and joy, clutching on to flowers in their hands.

It was the sight of Ghost and Nymeria, and the smaller wolves that awed the townsfolk as they whispered about the Old Gods. People pointed, and some fell to their knees with tears in their eyes.

Old men and women gave both Jon and Arya wistful looks, and the able-bodied men and women who stood by them and fought with them during the war gave them bows of respect. Children kept running towards Arya with big toothy grins, some of them proclaiming that she had given them their names when they were mere infants, and she was but a child. They handed her flowers of many colours, which she cherished with a blinding smile and warm words of gratitude.

Soon, their company was entering the castle gates with the bulk of their traveling party, across deep moats as they crossed creaky wooden bridges. Nostalgia hit Jon like a punch in the gut wherever he looked. In every corner, he recalled both the soft memories from his summer childhood and the grim and gruesome nightmare during the battles of winter.

The war had been gruelling as it was brutal. Jon still remembered the terrifying endless darkness and the biting cold of winter winds. The armies of the dead had swarmed the outnumbered armies of the living through a never-ending assault, breaking through the castle walls of Winterfell.

He had been safe for a time, flying on Rhaegal with his heart in his throat and the rush of adrenaline coursing through him as he banked, ascended, and descended from the skies.

His people, his family, his loved ones - they were all on the ground.

Bran had been the bait at the godswood, and Jon had firmly believed that his sisters had been safe in the crypts while the battle raged.

But it was not so. Amidst the rubble, smoke, and mangled corpses, Jon fought with all his might against countless wights. A dragon wight had stood in his way as he tried to get to the godswood. And then suddenly, the undead army fell, one by one as if they were mere puppets on a string. Jon had been out of breath as he ran at full speed at the heart of the godswood, heart pounding loudly in his ears. There, he found Bran and Arya in front of the weirwood at the end of it all. There, Winter fell as Arya defended her little brother from the Night King.

To think that he could have lost _her_ for ever...

Amidst the ugly memories of dead bodies in the snow during the winter battles, Jon could swear he could see Robb's grin, Theon's smirk, and Uncle Ned's gentle smile everywhere he turned. He could almost hear Old Nan's stories, the strict teachings of Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin, and even Hodor's laughter. He could almost see Bran climbing up a tower like a little monkey, Baby Rickon begging him for sweets with a toothy grin, and even Sansa brushing Lady’s fur. But it was Arya he thought of the most.

Everywhere, he could see Arya running to him with her arms outstretched, ready to jump into his arms. Arya laughing with him as they shared a secret joke, or finishing a sentence with him. And then came the day when they had to part for the first time.

_”I wish you were coming with us,” she had said._

_”Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle,” he had told her. “Who knows?”_

His heart skipped a beat as he couldn’t help but smile fondly at her now. She noticed him looking at her and smiled back with love in her eyes. His pretty little wolf.

Jon thanked the gods with all his heart. A life without Arya would be a dark and lonely life, like a never-ending winter without spring.

They passed by the buildings of the butcher, the armourer, and the brewer, and could already smell the baking bread and roasting meat from the kitchens. They passed the gated entrance to the godswood where the Night King was defeated, the path leading to the broken tower where Bran had fallen, and the yard where he used to train with Robb and Theon.

And then all of a sudden, they were at the courtyard in front of the Great Keep. A significant number of the Northern lords and ladies were standing with their Queen, their eyes trained on their company.

Jon was oddly reminded of old memories: that of King Robert arriving to take away his lord father to become his Hand as well as his little sister Arya. Jon was standing behind the Stark family: Lord Eddard, Lady Catelyn, and his half-siblings. He had felt so morose as he fell into a dark mood because he was once again relegated to the shadows, to stand behind the main family. He was nothing more than a bastard, a stain whose presence was an insult to the honour of House Stark.

But then suddenly, a little girl in a Northern soldier's helm ran down to take her place with the family at the last moment before the King was about to arrive. This prompted her lord father to admonish her and caused Jon to grin in amusement.

That girl had been Arya. Even without meaning to, she made him smile that day.

Jon also recalled another time, when he came home from a voyage to Dragonstone where his men had mined dragon glass, which was an essential item that they needed for the War with the Others. He had brought with him the Dragon Queen and her armies from Essos, as well as her dragons. And with them came a new retinue comprised of supporters from all over Westeros, including a smith who called himself Gendry Waters.

He couldn't help but frown at the memory. If only he had known more about the man. Jon had not been informed about a significant number of things. It still galled him even today that he was, at the time, surrounded by numerous men who had known his favourite sibling Arya, yet none of them had spoken to him about her. He would have rewarded them lands and gold just for mentioning her name and telling him that she was safe somewhere out there.

And during the day when he arrived at Winterfell from Dragonstone, Jon found his long-lost brother Bran with his sister Sansa. After embracing and kissing his little brother, his heart had seized in fright as his eyes darted around the crowd, unable to find Arya yet again. If they had lied or japed that she was there when she indeed wasn't, he would have spilled blood in anger.

But today was a different day. The time has passed for the age of stags and lions and foreign dragons. The winter snows have melted, and the war was now just a terrible memory.

It was a time for wolves, and perhaps one day, even Northern dragons.

It was a dream of spring.

And they all had a part to play now that Jon and Arya were back in Winterfell. Their sister Sansa had a lot to answer for, especially with the poverty that crippled the North. It was not going to be an easy reunion.

***

**Arya Stark**

Her heart was all out of sorts as they rode into the castle of her childhood home.

The smallfolk children who swarmed her with flowers and told her that she had named them when they were mere babies caused her to become happy beyond belief. There was an unexpected relief at seeing so many of them running and laughing as they crowded around her horse, grinning at her with the innocence of children.

But she was also anguished at seeing the grandeur of the castle with its newly-constructed buildings and refurbished and repaired ramparts, walls, and towers. It looked as if she had been transported to the Winterfell of her childhood when her lord father had been the Warden of the North.

It hurt that the beauty of her home came at the cost of the blood and hunger of the smallfolk. It hurt because she knew how painful hunger could be, or how little the smallfolk mattered to the highborn. The worst thing was that it was her own family that was the culprit. Just like in the Riverlands, it was always the smallfolk that suffered because of the games and ploys of the highborn, be they Stark or Tully or Frey or Lannister.

Arya felt as if she could have done more for their people if she never left. Perhaps if she had stayed behind to help Sansa with the running of North, especially with trying to solve the problem of the crippling poverty, Arya would’ve been of use to House Stark. But she had been a craven, half wanting to die in an impossible journey across the Sunset Sea because of all the nightmares that haunted her back then. Haunted her still, sometimes.

The most crippling guilt bore down on her like a heavy weight across her back as she and Jon rode inside the Northern gates that led to the courtyard of the Great Keep.

And then, there, Arya found her older sister in the crowd of people dressed in their silks and velvets. Sansa was as beautiful as the day when they parted at Kings Landing, the only red-headed woman in a crowd of Northern faces. She wore a dark grey velvet dress and a fur-lined blue cloak. Atop her auburn hair was a crown made of two wolves intersecting.

A pretty crown for the beautiful Queen as opposed to Robb’s crown, which had been modelled after the Winter Kings.

As they came to a stop in front of Sansa, Arya's heart sank. Sansa looked at her with both curiosity but also trepidation. She was older now, with mature features that made her look entirely like their lady mother, Lady Catelyn. Her appearance was a direct contrast to everyone else who stood around her, with her auburn hair, blue eyes, and Tully facial features.

 _Lady Stoneheart,_ Arya whispered to herself in her hearts of hearts. And suddenly, there were tears in her eyes.

All at once, the memories from the Riverlands came to her in a rush:

_Arya, Nymeria and her wolfpack, and the Brotherhood without Banners had been responsible for the siege of the Crossing. She had infiltrated the castle with skills she had learned with the Faceless Men, and had opened the gate for the rest of her comrades. They took the castle, freed the prisoner lords of the North and the Riverlands, and captured the lords of House Frey. The banners of the Freys were cut down, but the Brotherhood raised no banners afterward, for they prided themselves in following no one House._

_They did follow the mysterious Lady Stoneheart._

_After the fall of House Frey, Arya had gone to her one last time._

_"Mother," she said in a small, hushed breath._

_"Did you avenge your lady mother and your king brother?" Lady Stoneheart rasped._

_Her head was shrouded in dusty grey velvet, but even in the shadows, Arya could make out the decomposing skin that sagged from the bones of her skull. Her sunken eyes were still blue in the waxy skin of her face, and her hair was still a warm auburn colour, like the leaves of the heart tree. She used to be the most beautiful woman that Arya knew, her arms so safe and warm as she cradled her when she was much smaller. But that was a lifetime ago. And this wight was no longer her mother._

_The scent of her rotting body permeated the entirety of the chambers, but Arya was unafraid. Dead things did not frighten her, not for a long time. She had once lived in the House of Black and White, cleaning dead bodies every day. The living was worse than the dead._

_"I did, Mother," Arya answered numbly in a hoarse voice. "House Frey has fallen."_

_It was not for true. After careful deliberation, Arya had ordered Lem Lemoncloak and the Brotherhood to leave everyone alive if they could; only Lord Frey was to be killed. The rest were to be captured and brought to Riverrun with her lord uncle Edmure, to be given trial and the punishment that was commensurate to their crimes._

_Arya had slit Lord Frey's throat when she had found him cowering like a craven in his bedchambers, but it had felt like a hollow victory as she watched the light fade from his eyes._

_Just like when she heard the news about King Joffrey dying, Arya felt no joy from it. It did not bring back her brother Robb, her good sister Jeyne Westerling, and the child that could have been her niece or nephew. It did not bring back her lady mother - the true one, not the wight that haunted the Riverlands and caused bloodshed upon her enemies._

_Lady Stoneheart smiled at her in that horrible room perfumed with burning lavender oil, and Arya had to hold back the tears from falling. It was not the wight she could see at that moment, only her mother. In a terrible voice, the wight called her closer. When Arya stood before her, Lady Stoneheart pulled something from inside her cloak._

_"Kneel," Mother commanded in a harsh voice that was scarcely more than a whisper._

_And when Arya did, the rough flagstones digging into her knees through her riding leathers, a heavy crown was set upon her head._

_It was King Robb's crown, the winter crown. It had been made in the Riverlands during the war, inspired by the ancient crowns of the Kings of Winter. The bronze circlet depicted runes of the First Men and was decorated with nine black iron spikes shaped like longswords._

_"You are the only trueborn child left to me, the only one who still bears the Stark name," Lady Stoneheart croaked in a harsh voice. "You are the Queen in the North and the Riverlands now."_

_The tears spilled finally as Arya couldn't find it in herself to look the wight in the eye. A trail of blood, gore, and hundreds of corpses littered the lands around Lady Stoneheart, all in the name of House Stark._

_See with your eyes, Syrio Forel seemed to whisper to her at that moment. The seeing, the true seeing. That is the heart of it._

_When Arya stood, with the winter crown atop her head, she went to kiss her mother on the cheek. It was the kiss of betrayal, of death._

_When she pulled away, her mother's eyes were wide as they stared at each other. The grey cloak above her mother’s breast bloomed red like a budding flower as blood gushed forth from her heart._

_"Mercy," Arya whispered as tears flowed from her eyes uncontrollably while looking straight into her mother’s blue eyes, tickling her cheeks as they trickled down. She could taste the salt of her misery as her chest heaved up and down uncontrollably at how terrible she felt. She pulled Needle from her mother's heart. "This is my gift to you, Mother."_

_Stick them with the pointy end, she thought, almost hearing Jon's voice, almost seeing Jon's smile._

_Her heart broke into a million pieces as she thought of him. It was Jon she wanted at that moment. She needed him with all her heart._

_But Jon was dead too, at the Wall, where his sworn brothers had betrayed and killed him in cold blood._

_Only Sansa was alive, and Arya didn't even know where she was. And she was certain that Sansa never truly loved her. And could Arya blame her? Not even Jon would love her now._

_She was now all alone in the world, with nothing but blood on her sword, guilt in her heart, and a crown on her head._

_"Will you tell anyone about this?" Arya whispered to the lone man who stood with her in the chambers._

_Her mother's body had fallen, becoming a corpse for true. Blood flowed from the body, flooding the flagstones underfoot. It crept slowly towards Arya’s boots._

_"Nay," Ser Brynden the Blackfish answered in a hoarse voice. "Not a word, Your Grace. This I vow to you."_

_Arya reached atop her head, where the crown bore down heavily. She pulled it off and stared at the bronze crown, at the longswords around the band. This was her brother Robb’s once, but she did not deserve it despite being the last Stark alive. She will never deserve it._

_She went to her great uncle, the Blackfish, and handed him her crown. Without looking at him, Arya went to her mother’s corpse, closing her blue eyes and fixing her auburn hair with her trembling hands._

_Kinslayer, she thought. That’s what I am now._

_”We will give my mother a proper Tully funeral, on the river. She deserves that.” she mumbled in a near whisper, trying her best to still her heart. If she lost control of her emotions now, she was afraid she would break down and never stop weeping._

_”And where will you go?”_

_“I want to go North to avenge my brother, but the South also calls to me. Queen Cersei reigns over all the lands while my lord father’s blood calls out for justice.”_

_”Will that give you happiness, child?”_

_”I don’t think I will ever be happy again, Uncle.”_

_Later, at the banks of the Green Fork of the Trident, Ser Brynden Tully stood by her as her lady mother's body floated on a funeral boat, covered in the banners of House Tully and a grey cloak they found that they used as a substitute for House Stark's arms._

_Arya's hands shook as she held on to the bow, from which a lit arrow was nocked. But when she released the quiver, the shot went wild, missing the boat completely. The flame-tipped arrow went out with a hiss on the water as the boat continued to float downriver. Twice more she aimed and shot arrows, and twice more she missed._

_”I will do it,” Ser Brynden said in a pained voice. He missed once before hitting the boat finally, causing it to burst into flames._

_Together, side by side, they watched the funeral pyre of her lady mother._

_When the boat became nothing more than a burning speck on the horizon, Ser Brynden Tully said to her, ”Your lord grandfather Hoster missed many times as did your lord uncle Edmure when their fathers died. The arrow is heaviest while your heart is wounded. It is no disgrace to miss your shot, little wolf.”_

_Arya had held her composure through everything else. But hearing 'little wolf,' Jon Snow’s nickname for her, was what broke her. She fell to her knees and wept uncontrollably, her face buried in her hands as she sobbed loudly, her shoulders shaking and her whole body heaving._

_She wanted Father and Mother, Robb and Bran and Rickon, and even Sansa. But most of all, she wanted Jon. She needed him with all her heart._

_A warm tongue licked at her cheek, causing her heart to flutter painfully. She could feel and smell the direwolf’s fur._

_Nymeria, she thought, her chest seized with heartsick._

_It was Nymeria who had pulled her lady mother’s lifeless naked body from the river after she and Robb were murdered by the Freys and Boltons at the Twins. It was Nymeria who stood beside her now. She and her wolves were Arya’s pack, the only ones left._

_And then all of a sudden, as if they could hear her anguished cries, the Old Gods seemed to speak to her in her mind._

_”North,” a familiar voice whispered to her. Was it Bran’s voice?_

_And then she heard Jon’s voice in her heart of hearts:_

_“Ghost,” he said to her. And also, ”Stick them with the pointy end.”_

Presently, Jon cleared his throat, breaking through her old memories as they continued moving towards the Great Keep of Winterfell's castle. Arya blinked her tears away, trying to still her wildly-beating heart.

Jon was right there, riding next to her as her constant companion. Alive and real.

And very soon, they were to come before the Old Gods, to wed each other. To promise each other their hearts for eternity.

_Different roads have led us back to the same castle._

And yet despite the strength she drew from Jon’s mere presence, she swallowed the painful lump in her throat.

From across the courtyard, Sansa looked at her the same way that their lady mother might have if she was still alive. Her older sister looked so much like their lady mother that it was almost painful to look at her.

Arya took a deep breath, remembering Syrio Forel, Yoren, Jaqen H'ghar, the Kindly Man, the Black Pearl, and even Sandor Clegane. A long time ago, she had been Arya Underfoot, Arya Horseface. She had been Arry and Weasel too, and Squab and Salty, Nan the cupbearer, a grey mouse, a sheep, the ghost of Harrenhal. For a long time, she had been a servant and a slave. In her darkest moments, she became No One.

But not for true, not in her heart of hearts. In there she was Arya of Winterfell, the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn, who had once had brothers named Robb and Bran and Rickon, a sister named Sansa, a direwolf called Nymeria, a half brother named Jon Snow. In there she was someone.

_Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. Fear cuts deeper than swords. The man who fears losing has already lost. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords._

She was Arya Stark of Winterfell. And there was no need to be afraid.

_Fear cuts deeper than swords._

Suddenly, Arya felt foolish beyond words. The agony she felt from her short encounter with Lady Stoneheart was nothing compared to Jon’s entire childhood of being shunned as the bastard of Winterfell by her lady mother.

Giving him a sidelong glance, Arya bit her bottom lip as she worried about him. She hoped that Jon wasn’t in agony at seeing Lady Catelyn in Sansa. They looked so alike now, the Lady of Winterfell and the Queen in the North.

And when they came to stand in front of Sansa together, Jon's warm hand clasped with hers, she looked up steadily into her older sister's blue eyes.

In the courtyard of Winterfell, they were more than what they used to be: a former King, a Princess Heir, and the current Queen in the North. They were more than kin, all of them a part of the mess that the North had become.

Between the three of them, a mountain of work needed to be accomplished.

***

**Queen Sansa**

The former King in the North and the Princess of Winterfell halted the march of their horses when they reached the courtyard. Jon and Arya immediately dismounted from their horses, their movements swift and graceful. Jon took Arya’s hand unconsciously, drawing Sansa’s eyes for just a brief second, as they both came to stand in front of her. 

Their faces looked flushed in the chill of the afternoon, their hair a little bit windswept. But they both looked really good, together and apart, the weight of destiny and their past feats making them more prominent than they truly were. It was a homecoming for heroes.

“Greetings, sweet sister,” Arya greeted with a short bow before drawing closer to press a sweet kiss on her cheek. “It has been a long time, Your Grace. Forgive my delay in answering your summons.”

Sansa was struck with Arya's words, and for a moment, she thought of the tiny nine-year-old child that her little sister had been in Kings Landing.

_"Go ahead, call me all the names you want," Sansa had said airily. "You won't dare when I'm married to Joffrey. You'll have to bow to me and call me Your Grace."_

It felt like a hollow victory now, but her eleven-year-old self would have wanted to gloat at her sister. It made her feel a little foolish now as a woman grown. They have all been through so much. It was time to grow up and forget old wounds. 

Beside Arya, Jon didn’t look pleased even as he kept his face neutral, bowing only long enough to be courteous. “Greetings, sister,” he said, not bothering with her title as Queen or calling her _Your Grace_. Then in a softer voice so only she and Arya could hear, “Or is it cousin? I’m not sure what’s more convenient for you right now.”

Sansa held back the irritation she felt from leaking on to her face. She was not surprised by Jon’s words. But she still felt a little affected by it. She felt defensive, wanting to point out that he had been a worse oathbreaker than her.

When Jon had been the king, he had lost the North to the Dragon Queen almost overnight.

 _A weak man,_ she thought angrily, her blood boiling as she seethed quietly. _You wanted to be like our lord father, but what honour was there in losing the North to the conquering Queen? Robb gave his life for the North, and you lost it so quickly because you were too weak against the wiles of a pretty Dragon Queen. Robb would have banished you like Bran had if he had still been alive!_

Sansa took a deep breath and tried to still her shaking hands.

 _Courtesy is a lady's armour,_ she reminded herself.

She supposed her broken vow had not been forgotten, after all. She drew from her mother’s boundless courtesies as she smiled sweetly at them both. “Brother and sister, I welcome you back home. Winterfell has always been yours.” She turned then to the older woman who stood next to her. “I would like to introduce my good aunt, Lady Barbrey Dustin of Barrowton. You have already met my lord husband, Lord Willam, I'm sure.”

At hearing his name, Sansa's lord husband stepped forward from behind Jon and Arya, smoothly taking his place next to her. Willam embraced her with a flourish, mindful of the watching crowd, and kissed her lovingly on the cheek. "I have missed you, Your Grace. You are as beautiful as the day I met you, my lovely wife."

Sansa kissed him back and smiled at him just as lovingly. If nothing else, Willam was a very beautiful man. Despite the hardships they sometimes had, they always worked well together in keeping up appearances and being a united front against outsiders.

”Fair tidings to you both. Like I said a long time ago when I met you both when you were much younger, you look so much like your lord father,” Lady Barbrey Dustin said to Jon. She had a look of interest in her cool and calculating eyes as she first studied Jon and then Arya. “Both of you. The Stark seed runs strong in your blood.”

Sansa wondered if Lady Dustin was thinking about the lord uncle she never met, Brandon. There were whispers regarding Uncle Brandon and Lady Barbrey being lovers once. Supposedly, they had been so in love, and Lady Barbrey had even given Uncle Brandon her maidenhead. But their love story had a tragic ending, like the sad romantic love songs. Lady Barbrey was next supposed to marry Lord Eddard, Sansa’s lord father. In another life, Lady Barbrey could have been Sansa's lady mother.

Both of her siblings turned to her Lady Dustin, inclining their heads at the same time.

"Lady Dustin, fair tidings to you," Jon said courteously.

"Thank you for being my sister's council," Arya added in a respectful tone.

They turned to her lord husband next, their Northern faces and wise grey eyes reminding her of her lord father all of a sudden. It gripped her heart for a moment. 

Beside her, Willam had a proud smile on his fair face, annoying her just a little. A flash of smugness touched his countenance, as if Winterfell belonged more to him than the two other Starks who stood before him.

“I have had an interesting journey with my good brother and good sister,” Lord Willam said, his voice full of honeyed courtesies. Willam gave her a quick sidelong glance full of meaning, with a silent promise to tell her more about it later. 

Sansa caught Arya’s pointed questioning glance to her that was full of silent questions, and ignored Jon’s thinly-veiled unimpressed look. Both reactions from her siblings were too fast for Willam to catch thankfully. 

“If there is anything you need that could make you feel more at home, please let me know,” Lord Dustin added airily.

Arya nodded to him without a sharp retort, surprising Sansa with her easy courtesy. “I will make sure to do so. We have brought gifts for you, my lord, and for my sister as well. Your Grace, please accept our humble presents for you and your court.”

At this, a chest was brought forth by two men from their retinue. Inside were spices and other foreign food delicacies.

"The spices are from across the Sunset Sea," Arya explained. "We have agreed on a trade with the many bountiful kingdoms that we had encountered, ones who are located halfway between Westeros and Essos. Their soils are rich and fertile, and they have produced a lot of delicacies that will soon become popular in Westeros.”

Sansa perked up at what she heard, knowing that Arya's trade connections could prove useful for the North. After Arya was wed and had at least one Stark child from that marriage, Sansa would make sure that Arya could return to her life as a trader at sea.

"Thank you," Sansa said with a smile. She felt so much better now that Arya was proving to be a good advantage for her in many other ways, not just politically. "Now, you must meet the rest of our Northern bannermen who have all gathered here to welcome you and our half-brother after many years of absence. But there are too many of them. I will make sure that each lord will get to speak to you tonight at the feast that I have prepared in your honour."

"You have toiled diligently for this feast, Sister," Arya said diplomatically. "I hope you have enough for the men and women who we've brought with us too. They are not a part of your Northern bannermen, but are a part of the retinue of Jon and myself. They are young men and women from the Night's Watch and Mole's Town. I've added a few extra gifts in the chests for you in hopes that you will welcome my people as if they were a part of your castle staff."

Sansa felt disappointed, and she couldn't help but feel annoyed. She wondered what her lady mother would say in Arya's foolish decisions, especially in associating with lowlifes. It was too much to think that Arya had changed for the better, to become more lady-like as her royal blood demanded.

A flashback came to her all of a sudden, when Sansa was only eleven, and Arya only nine:

_When the royal retinue of King Robert was traveling along the Kings Road, Sansa had been aggrieved at Arya’s behaviour. Her little sister had balked at the opportunity to sit with Queen Cersei and Princess Myrcella at the royal wheelhouse. Instead, she wanted to ride her horse alongside the royal procession, and even preferred the company of the smelly butcher’s boy. Sansa had been furious._

_She had ranted in her mind:_

_Arya liked to talk to squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya made friends with anybody. Mycah had been the worst out of all of them; a butcher's boy, thirteen and wild, he slept in the meat wagon and smelled of the slaughtering block._

_Because of Mycah and Arya, Sansa's direwolf Lady was killed._

_It was all Arya's fault._

And today, as if she was still a stupid little girl, Arya brought home criminals and whores from the Wall.

Sansa never felt more foolish than today. It seemed as if the gods had given her the enormous task of making her little sister into a proper lady, to ready her for a life as a lord's wife. She would give her sister a proper talking to later, behind closed doors.

Courteously, in a sweet voice, she said, "Of course, little sister. Now, please go on inside the Keep. I've made sure to prepare baths and a warm fire in both your chambers. I've had the royal seamstress prepare some dresses for you as well. I know you prefer your riding - "

"It's fine, thank you," Arya cut her off.

Sansa seethed and took a deep calming breath.

"Now, was there anything else that you needed before this evening's feast?" she offered graciously.

"Jon and I will visit Father and Aunt Lyanna before anything else, of course," Arya said evenly, not looking at her for a moment as she scanned the crowd around them.

Sansa was startled. She realised that in all the planning she had done for the Springtime Feast in honour of welcoming her siblings back, she forgot to include a visit to the crypts for this afternoon's itinerary. Immediately softening, she nodded her head.

"Of course," Sansa said. "And I will accompany you both as well."

Before Arya could respond, there was an excited shriek as something small and quick darted out from behind her and brushed against the side of her leg. Sansa had half a mind to call her guards but then was startled to see that it was only Gawen Snow, her lord husband's little bastard boy.

"Pa!" Gawen cried out excitedly as he ran to his lord father, his small arms wrapping around his father's leg. The child looked so much like his lord father with his brown curls and warm brown eyes.

Willam's look of superiority faded as he laughed openly, picking up the tiny boy and pulling him to his chest. He kissed the top of his child's head. "Did you miss me, Gawen?"

The boy grinned and giggled. "Missed you!"

Sansa grimaced for a hearbeat before forcibly schooling her face to look more queenly. It always felt awkward to see the boy getting acknowledged by his lord father; it made her think of her poor lady mother. She felt ashamed of her situation all of a sudden, of this walking, talking proof of her lord husband's betrayal: this new bastard of Winterfell.

But when she forced herself to look at Arya, she saw a hint of sympathy in her gaze. Sansa felt both affronted and heartened at the same time. Arya shouldn't ever have to feel sorry for her. Sansa was the _Queen_. No one should ever feel sorry for the Queen.

Meanwhile, Jon had an unreadable look in his grey eyes. Sansa wondered if he thought about her lady mother too, about the days from long ago when he had been the bastard of Winterfell.

"His name is Gawen Snow," Sansa forced herself to admit to both of them. "He is - " she faltered, finding it difficult to say the words out loud, especially while they were surrounded by so many of their bannermen.

"I know," Arya said, nodding in understanding. "Perhaps the three of us can visit the crypts now before anything else?"

"Yes," Sansa answered, forcing herself to sound unaffected. "That is wise. Would Nymeria and Ghost accompany us? And these new pups? You must tell me their names."

Arya's eyes softened for a moment as she nodded, and at that moment, Sansa felt relieved at her presence. It was good to have family back home again.

***

**Jon Snow**

After seeing to it that the wolfpack went on their way to the Wolfswood with Ghost and Nymeria at the helm, much to Sansa's disappointment because she wanted to bond with the new pups, they went towards the entrance of Winterfell's crypts. He and Sansa held torches while Arya carried flowers. 

It was a trial to remain cordial in the presence of the person who had betrayed him in the worst way possible and caused so many lives to suffer not only because of her broken vow, but also the careless way she disregarded the smallfolk of the North. The memory of dirty-faced, listless, and hungry children stared at him each time he closed his eyes, making him feel guilty and heartsick. It was always the defenceless who suffered first, as they paved the way for the greed of the highborn.

He bit back his need to admonish the Queen. He had to force himself to swallow the anger that boiled beneath his skin as he stared at the red hair that reminded him so much of Lady Catelyn Stark, the woman who caused him immeasurable agony as a child.

Jon let the sisters walk together in front of him as the three of them went inside the dim, chilly, and dark crypt. They went down the narrow and winding spiral stone steps, which led to a floor containing a long line of granite pillars, two by two, between which were entombed the dead of House Stark. Their shadows moved eerily against the walls and vaulted ceiling.

Sansa and Arya were speaking about Gawen Snow and Lord Willam. Jon was genuinely not interested in Sansa's personal life, but the fact that there was a new bastard of Winterfell felt odd.

In Sansa, the Old Gods seemed to be echoing the past, as if she was the second coming of her lady mother. And just as Sansa was now the new Lady Catelyn, the tiny bastard Gawen Snow was the new Jon Snow. 

Did Sansa treat the boy the way she once treated Jon when they were children? The way Lady Catelyn once treated him?

 _Half-brother,_ she always called him. _Bastard_ , was what he knew she truly meant. Sansa always took her lady mother's lessons to heart.

Jon gritted his teeth as he forced himself to stop glaring at the redhead in front of him. It was a waste of time to spend another moment more on Sansa. Instead, he worried about Arya. Did his little wolf see her lady mother in her sister too?

When they reached the tombs of their family, Jon put his torch on a sconce mounted at the stone wall.

The three of them stopped in front of Lady Lyanna's statue first. As if he'd suddenly been slapped, he sucked in a shaky breath as he stared at his lady mother's stone statue. The cold face carved into the tomb had the hint of a small, pretty child-woman. Jon stared at his lady mother's likeness, feeling a pang deep inside him.

His life would have been completely different if she had lived. Where could he have grown up? Would he have been forced to flee to Essos with her? Would she have gone home to Winterfell with the shame of bearing Prince Rhaegar's son? Would King Robert have ridden North with his armies so that Jon could be killed, just as his half-siblings Aegon and Rhaenys had been slaughtered in cold blood even while they were no more than babes? Would his mother have met the same horrible fate as Elia Martell? Would the North have risen up in a call for war if Lord Eddard called for the banners once more?

Jon turned away from Lady Lyanna's statue, his heart aching.

Arya went to him immediately as if she shared his heart, her grey eyes full of concern. She stood before him and handed him a laurel of blue winter roses. Its scent was sweet and fragrant amidst the dank and damp smell of the crypts' old earth and stone.

"It's her favourite, isn't it?" she asked gently, looking so worried for him.

Their fingers brushed as Jon took the flowers from her. He nodded, feeling grateful for her touch and presence. 

Together, they moved forward until they were right in front of his lady mother's statue. He leaned down and placed the roses at her lap before glancing back up and watching her face. He could not discern what she truly looked like in the cold stone of the statue's face, but enough old men who had known her had told Jon that he only had to look at Arya to know what she was truly like.

Lady Lyanna Stark had been a skilled rider of horses, and some even said she was skilled in weapons, for she secretly trained with her brothers. She was fierce and willful, young and pretty, and had died long before her time. And she had given Jon his life. Lady Lyanna had been his lady mother.

"Father used to always bring her winter roses," Arya said.

Jon nodded. "I remember when I was a boy. Sometimes, he would ask me to accompany him to the crypts, just the two of us. We would sit in front of Lady Lyanna's statue for an hour, maybe more. I never understood why he would only bring me with him, and not Robb. Now I understand."

Arya looked morose when he glanced at her. In the dim light of lit torches from the walls, Jon could almost see a different person because of the shadows on her face. For a brief moment, he could almost imagine that it was his lady mother who stood before him. Arya and Lady Lyanna were of an age now, and supposedly looked very much alike in appearance, both great Northern beauties. The She-Wolves and Winter Roses of Winterfell.

"I'm sorry that your heritage, your honour, and your identity - all of it had been denied to you, Jon," she said as softly as she could, not wanting to let Sansa hear. She drew even closer to him, taking his hand in hers. It felt cold to the touch, and he couldn’t help but wonder where she had put her gloves.

"It doesn't matter now," he said, squeezing her hand gratefully. "Despite everything that had happened, Uncle Ned raised me as a true son, sacrificing his honour. I grew up in the safety of this castle until I was a man grown. Not like the life you've lived, little wolf, out there as a defenceless orphan in wartorn lands. To think that I could have been with you instead of being stuck at the Wall - "

"Hush," Arya whispered reassuringly. "Remember why we're here."

"Aye," Jon nodded, sobering as he noticed Sansa lingering on in the background, looking uncertainly around the crypts. "We can revisit my mother again another time, with just the two of us. We should go and see Father now."

Hand in hand, they walked towards Father's statue. Jon first saw Lord Brandon's before Lord Eddard’s. But next to them, a new statue had been erected. The figure was young and almost familiar. Jon's eyes narrowed.

 _The Young Wolf,_ Jon thought, as he recalled a cold summer morning when he and Uncle Benjen were about to leave for the Wall. _I passed him by while I was on my way to Arya to gift her Needle. Snowflakes were melting on his auburn hair as we said good-bye to one another._

 _Farewell Snow,_ Robb had said.

 _And you, Stark,_ Jon had responded.

Next to him, Arya's body stiffened as she gasped audibly. She stepped backward in uncharacteristic fright, and her eyes were wide as if she just saw a ghost.

When Jon looked back at the new statue, a cold chill ran down his spine as he realised. 

They were looking at the replica of King Robb Stark. He sat there with the old Kings of Winter, with stone-cold eyes and a grim look on his face. An iron sword lay across his lap, and at his feet, his stone direwolf Grey Wind guarded him as valiantly as he did when they had both still been alive. Robb looked so young, for ever a boy king. A winter crown sat upon his brow.

"Robb," Jon whispered his name, feeling a sharp stab of agony inside his chest.

"I was at King's Landing when I heard," Sansa said sadly. "It was one of the worst days of my life. Losing him had been like losing a limb. All hope was gone when I found out about the Red Wedding. Mother and Robb, murdered in cold blood. I couldn’t eat or sleep for days. How did you find out, Jon?"

"The news was slow to arrive at the Wall but when it did, I wanted to ride out and damn the Lannisters. My sword thirsted for blood," he admitted gravely, the rage still fresh on his mind.

"Why didn't you?" Arya whispered in a voice he could hardly hear. But she shook her head immediately after she said it, full of regret, "I didn't mean to say that."

Surprised, Jon glanced down at her. But she wouldn't look at him, her eyes cast down, covered by shadows. Her hand in his had gone slack, and her body was rigid as if she was in agony.

A horrible thought came to him.

"How did you find out, Arya?" Jon asked, placing his hands on top of her slim shoulders, feeling the tension in the way she held herself. When she didn't answer, he gently cupped her face and lifted her chin so that he could look at her properly.

There was something haunted in her eyes, a darkness that she was trying vainly to hide from him.

Finally, she pulled her face from his hands as she looked away. Even without meaning to, it was as if Arya wounded him by drawing away from his touch.

"Please," Jon urged her in a soft voice that he didn't want Sansa to hear. "I will wait until you are ready to tell me, but know that no matter what you've seen or what you've done, I will always love you."

When Arya looked back up, her eyes were sad, her posture had gone rigid, and her shoulders were hunched. Her voice broke as she admitted, "I was there."

Jon suddenly went cold all over. In dawning horror, the hairs bristled on the back of his neck. It was as if his whole world crashed down on him all of a sudden, as if Winterfell's walls were crumbling once more as undead armies broke through the defence of the castle, and Kings Landing's buildings were burning once again from dragon fire. Arya could not mean that -

But looking at the clarity in her grey eyes, Jon _knew_. And when those eyes clouded over in old memories, his heart sank.

"You were there," Jon choked in disbelief. Angry tears welled up in his eyes in his misery, making his sight blurry as he watched her closely: at the slight trembling of her lips and the emptiness in her stare. Her mind was somewhere else, in a place where he could never reach her. Desperately, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "You were at the Red Wedding."

"Not inside," she clarified, clearing her throat as she looked away hastily. She murmured in a monotone, "For days, I was on a journey to the Twins with Sandor Clegane, who had kidnapped me for ransom. I wanted desperately to be with Mother and Robb again, even though I was afraid they wouldn't pay the ransom. I was so filthy that I was sure Mother wouldn't want me anymore. I knew I would only disappoint her. On the day that we arrived at the banks close to the Crossing, I could hardly believe it. I was afraid that we wouldn't get there in time for the wedding. When we got to the castle, I found Robb's direwolf Grey Wind. I was so happy and relieved. And then, all of a sudden, Lord Frey's men killed him."

"No!" Sansa cried, finally realising what Arya was saying. She rushed forward in panic, closer to Arya, but awkwardly just hovering as she was unused to the physical closeness between the two of them. Her eyes were full of agony, and when she spoke once more, she sounded almost hysterical. "Why didn't you tell me before, Arya!?"

"I couldn't," Arya mumbled, taking a step back and drawing away from him again in an almost defensive manner. Her body crumpled on itself as she made herself even smaller than she already was. She glanced at Sansa with worry, and then at him with trepidation. It was as if she was about to bolt from them, to run again and sail away to distant lands. Finally, when she spoke again, she sounded defeated, "I've never told anyone."

Jon’s gut clenched in fear. But he plodded on, needing desperately to hear the truth from her. "Are you ready to tell us more?"

Arya bit her lip uncertainly for a few heartbeats before she finally nodded. "It was a bloodbath. It was fire and chaos and confusion. The Northern army was massacred en masse. They were butchered in the streets. It was mud and blood. Lords were hung, drawn and quartered, and some were captured. And Robb..."

She hesitated, and as Jon studied her closely, his heart broke at the tears that welled up in her eyes. Shame burned in the depths of those grey eyes, and self-loathing. She looked away from him in fury, her lips curled up in anger.

It was painful to see her like this. All that Jon could do was embrace her as tightly as he could, as he pulled her in the circle of his arms. Her tears slid down his cold Targaryen armour like a slow silver stream, through the inlaid rubies and the black Valyrian steel. He could feel her clenching her fists in rage and agony, and he felt entirely helpless as he held her. He could hear her silently screaming against his chest, suffocating with each breath she took as, even now, she tried her best to be strong.

What memory plagued her? What other sin had he committed when he hadn't been at her side when she was at her most vulnerable? When she needed him the most? What other thing had he not protected her from? The guilt made him sick to his stomach. It weighed heavy in the depths of his mind, a black stain against his heart as it corrupted his soul. The gods had damned him, damned her, and their entire family.

Jon ran his fingers through the hair at the back of her nape, wanting to take away the horrid things that the gods had put her through. He whispered sweet nothings at the top of her head, in an attempt to calm the silent war within her mind.

Arya gently pushed him away with her hands, wiggling out of his grasp as if she wanted desperately to run away. But Jon held her securely, unable to let her go. For half a heartbeat, he was afraid to lose her for ever.

But then, her whole body went slack. And suddenly, she clutched on to him with her arms wrapping around his neck, as if she was drowning in the fast currents of a river. She looked up at him desperately, blinking back tears. In a rush, she lamented, "I couldn't do anything for them. I was helpless and weak, unable to help anyone. Sandor Clegane hit the back of my head because I wanted to run inside the halls, and I lost consciousness. When I came to, I heard men loudly cheering. 'The King in the North!' they kept chanting. I was so relieved. I looked around for Robb. I found him mounted on a horse, but his head was gone. In its place was his direwolf Grey Wind's. The Freys had sown it on his shoulders. They paraded his desecrated body up and down the streets of the Crossing. And even as they laughed and japed and celebrated, they never stopped chanting: The King in the North! The King in the North!"

"No!" Sansa cried, her tears flowing so freely down her cheeks. "No, say it isn't so! Arya, please!"

But she didn't say anything else, her small body sagging against his.

Jon felt like tearing his hair out because of the pain he felt at her words. Anger, misery, and agony plagued his entire body like a heavy weight settling at the pit of his stomach. It felt like hundreds of knives were stabbing at his heart. And again, the guilt ate away at his conscience - at being stuck on the Wall when all these things kept happening to Arya when she had only been a small defenceless child in the middle of the war in the Riverlands. 

He wondered desperately if she called out for him in the darkness, if she longed for him on nights when she was all alone, vulnerable to all the scum of the earth - the thieves, the rapers, and the murderers. What could a tiny child of ten do against a fully grown man? Against the armies of the Lannisters? The Boltons? The Freys?

Jon worried for her even now, even if she was leagues away from the Riverlands, or war, or the threat of cruel men. A fierce protectiveness came over him as he thought of their home in the True North, where she had been safe in his arms every night, where they had been a true family - a wildling husband and his spearwife. He wanted nothing more than to whisk her away and take her home with him, back in their cabin in the mountains with the fire at the hearth, books and songs at night, and their bodies melding together so closely under the furs so that they couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

He wrapped his arms around her even tighter, wishing they could be skin to skin as he felt the press of her Valyrian steel plate, furs, and leathers against his own. How he missed her so desperately, feeling so skin-hungry for her. He was about to urge her to move towards the exit of the crypts when she shook her head sadly, knowing his thoughts as intimately as she knew her own.

"Later," she said wearily, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Let us greet Father first."

Jon took a deep breath, and despite his wishes to protect her from anything that could hurt her, he nodded his head. Together, they came before Lord Eddard's statue. Sansa sniffed sadly in the background, only a few steps behind them.

"Sansa," Arya said as she placed a laurel of roses at their lord father’s lap. "Thank you for taking care of Father and Robb while we were gone. I'm sure you were doing the best that you could. But now we're here to help you out. We will speak again later."

And when Arya turned to look at him, her eyes softened. "What got me through it was the thought that you were at the Wall, safe. I wanted to go home to you."

"And I should have been there with you," Jon finally admitted out loud. "Joining the Night's Watch was a green boy's dream. I should have never left your side."

She shook her head, and the corners of her lips lifted in a small smile. "It doesn't matter now, Jon. Different roads have led us back to the same castle. It was just like you said."

For half a heartbeat, Jon just watched her - his brave little wolf. And then he leaned down and kissed her forehead, whispering his love for her against her skin.

They turned to Lord Eddard Stark's statue once more, the man who they both called father. It looked nothing like him, but still, he felt the weight of his presence as the cold stone eyes stared at them.

He felt a twinge of guilt and regret. For this man he called lord father, Jon was unable to leave his post at the Wall. For Robb, he could not abandon his sworn brothers of the Night's Watch. Only for Arya did he break his vows. And after he died and was resurrected by the red priestess, it was in his little sister’s name that he was able to conquer Winterfell with the Northern bannermen, retaking it from the Boltons.

Did his lord uncle ever consider him as his son for true? Even if he was not from his own seed? He hoped that his deeds were enough to be worthy of Eddard Stark’s name.

 _Let them say that Eddard Stark fathered four sons, instead of three,_ he remembered. It had been his fondest wish when he had been a man of the Night's Watch. That, and desperately needing Arya to come home to him, to be in the safety of his arms.  _Perhaps I was meant to be your good son instead, Uncle Ned. You must know that I will soon wed your youngest daughter, Arya._

His guilt seemed to double all of a sudden. Jon did not care what anyone else thought of his relationship with Arya. They could curse him and proclaim that he was a monster for bedding his beloved little sister. But the thought of Uncle Ned knowing about it, a man who treated him as his own son to the detriment of the honour that had been so important to him...

 _I'm sorry, Uncle,_ Jon thought forlornly, cursing himself in his mind. _I was supposed to protect my little sister, Arya, but instead, I come before you after having bedded her endlessly these past few moons. I ruined her honour so many times that I possibly even put a child in her womb without wedding her first. And if for some reason, I am unable to wed her, I could have created a bastard and ruined her honour for ever, something I swore never to do._

_Forgive me, Father._

He sighed deeply, feeling so tired. 

But then Arya stepped back from Lord Eddard's statue. She came to stand right next to him, their arms touching so closely that they shared warmth through the close proximity. When he turned to look at her, her gaze shone with complete love and adoration, for ever his closest confidant and constant supporter. His resolve grew immediately, the darkness fading from his heart.

 _I love her, Uncle Ned,_ he thought desperately as he looked back at Lord Eddard's stone face. _My heart belongs completely to her. I want her home to only be with me, always. I don't ever want to be parted from her again. And so I will never let her go again, this I promise you, Father. I will love and protect her until the end of my days, this I vow to you._

They stayed in the crypts for a little longer, quietly speaking to the ghosts of their family. Arya placed extra roses at the laps of Robb and Uncle Brandon, both of them quiet and grim the entire time.

When they were on their way back out of the crypts, Arya turned to him with a longing look.

”Do you remember when Robb took me, Sansa, and Bran to the crypts when we were little? You covered yourself in flour and jumped out to scare us. You had frightened poor Bran who was still a baby.”

Jon did remember. It was as if it had just happened yesterday when he was only a boy of ten, Arya was five, and Bran only three.

 _Summer,_ he thought, smiling wistfully at the summer memory from his childhood. _We were nothing more than children stinking of summer._

”I remember too!” Sansa gushed from behind them. “I was so afraid that I ran away!”

Jon looked at her in surprise, almost forgetting about her. He had to force himself not to respond with spite or anger, to remember that Sansa had once been his sister too. It was a duty he owed to Eddard Stark and Robb.

”It was what happened after that is most clear in my mind, even today,” he muttered, turning back to Arya. At seeing the rapt eagerness on her face, he couldn’t help but look at her in amusement. “Do you still remember, Arya?”

She grinned at him, her eyes dancing with mirth. “I punched the ghost to protect my baby brother!”

Jon grinned back at her like an idiot as a thought came to him. “Just like with the Night King! As you did in the summer as a small child, again you defended Bran against the ghost during the winter war.”

Arya’s eyes widened in surprise, hardly believing the coincidence. And then, just like when they were children, they both laughed together, the sorrow from moments ago forgotten. And soon, even Sansa joined along with them, all of their laughter echoing off of the cold stone walls containing the bones of the Winter Kings.

In the crypts of Winterfell, with only their dead family and ancestors, it was easy to forget the duty that awaited them back at the castle. Where Sansa was Queen, Jon was the exiled and usurped King, and Arya was the heir of them both. Where the lords and ladies awaited them, with their expectations and demands. Where the voiceless, hungry, and dying smallfolk needed them to step up and make everything right for them.

When the laughter died, Jon felt his goodwill to the Queen disappear. He owed it to the people of the North to side with them. Even if he was no longer king, he will never stop fighting for them.

And he knew that Arya felt the same.

***

**Queen Sansa**

She looked up as the door to her solar was closed shut. Her lord husband stood before her, a serene smile on his lips. Sansa felt her heart flutter a little as he closed the distance between them, sweeping her off her feet and pressing a breathtaking kiss upon her lips. His tongue tasted like honey and mint, and he smelled fresh and clean, having bathed and dressed in freshly-laundered clothes.

When he pulled away and set her on her feet, she couldn't help but smile as he grinned at her.

"Did you miss me, my wife?" he asked.

Sansa observed him for a moment. He looked ever so handsome in his court attire. Willam wore a grey fur-lined cloak, black silk gloves, polished black leather boots, silvery-grey lambswool breeches, a dark grey leather belt, and a black velvet doublet embroidered with the combined heraldry of his House and hers: a direwolf of House Stark atop House Dustin's two rusted longaxes with black shafts crossed, a black crown between their points. A golden chain hung around his neck with a tear-shaped yellow topaz pendant, which was his House colour. Playful eyes and a lazy smile beneath his soft brown curls completed his appearance, and Sansa felt herself gushing inside at how he looked at her with adoration.

Lord Willam of House Dustin was, if nothing else, truly very handsome. He was possibly even more beautiful than the other highborn men she used to fancy: Prince Joffrey Baratheon, Ser Loras Tyrell, and even Lord Harrold Hardyng who almost became her own lord husband in the Vale, when Harry had been her cousin Sweetrobin's heir.

"That depends," Sansa demured, feeling herself blush prettily. "If you behaved while you were away."

He laughed lightly as he looked at her in fond amusement. "You are my Queen, my love. No one will ever compare with your beauty. I have never loved another woman as I love you."

Despite his charming words, Sansa felt a twinge of annoyance as she recalled Willam's bastard boy. Gawen Snow had embarrassed her earlier as the child went straight into his lord father's arms, humiliating Sansa and ruining her honour in front of all the Northern bannermen. She frowned at her lord husband in disbelief. "Gawen Snow is proof that you are a liar, dear Willam. Perhaps you have many and more women that I know nothing of."

He shook his head at her accusations. Guilt, shame, and even agony burned in his brown eyes for a moment. Gently, he took her gloved hand in his and lightly kissed the skin above her wrist. His soft lips tickled her, causing her heart to flutter helplessly at his gallant actions.

"My dear wife," he said earnestly as his lips lingered on her skin. He watched her with fond desire from beneath his long brown lashes for half a heartbeat longer before straightening and looking deeply into her eyes. He divulged to her, "I know for a fact that you have spies following me all the time. You know my every move. And my bastard son is only alive because of how drunk I had been nearly three years ago, after one of the biggest fights we had. I don't even know what his whore of a mother looks like, and she has long been dead and cold in the ground. We were both so young back then. And I was so foolish in my heartbreak whenever you drove me away from your bed. I have been very repentant ever since. I have sinned, and have paid dearly for it for years."

"Have you?" Sansa questioned doubtfully. "The proof of your sin is in my castle every day, for all to see. You dishonour me with his very presence when he could instead be tucked away with your lady aunt in Barrowton."

"But my dear, even your lady mother allowed your bastard brother to grow up with you as a true brother," he faltered as he frowned at her sadly. "Right now, little Gawen has no siblings even. He is no threat to anyone. He is only an innocent babe. I would have thought that you were as gracious and kind as your lady mother. You already look as beautiful as Lady Catelyn. Nay, even more lovely. The best queen in all of Westeros, if I'm honest. None can compare, especially the mad queens of years past: Queen Cersei Lannister and Queen Daenerys Targaryen. You, my dear, are the perfect Queen. And I was lucky enough that you chose me as your lord husband. I am unworthy of you, Your Grace."

"Fine, Willam, he can stay for now," Sansa responded wearily, moved by his words. Even though a part of her hated him, another part adored him too. He was very much like the gallant and courteous knights of the South, so different from the gruff lords of the North. And yet, she forced herself to remind him, "But that will change soon, now that my sister Arya has come home to Winterfell to be my heir. I've already told you this. Gawen will be sent to Barrowton when Aunt Barbrey leaves Winterfell."

Willam leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek in gratitude. "Your kindness is beyond compare, my beautiful queen. I only hope that one day, I would become worthy enough to be your equal. To be a king just as you are queen."

"One day, perhaps," Sansa forced herself to answer courteously.

When Willam smiled, he was as dazzling as the sun, like the dreamy knights and princes from Kings Landing. Her heart fluttered, feeling torn about wanting him and hating him at the same time.

They went to the table together where refreshments had been prepared for them. Willam poured wine that was as red as blood into gleaming golden goblets.

"There is something you should know," he hesitated to say as he handed her a goblet. "About your bastard brother Jon and your little sister Arya."

Sansa felt intrigued for a moment as she sat back in her plush, velvet-cushioned chair, sipping delicately at her wine. In her mouth, the Dornish strongwine was sweet and lovely. "What about Jon and Arya?"

Willam hesitated for a moment as he sat down across from her, crossing his legs as he sipped on his own wine. He licked his lips, savouring the flavour of his drink, then put his goblet down. He looked her straight in the eyes, his brown ones full of curiosity.

"Jon is _very fond_ of his little sister," he revealed in an almost dramatic whisper, in a tone that implied something more sinister than what she expected.

Sansa couldn't help but laugh at him. "Do you mean that they're _very_ physically affectionate? Of course, you do. They have _always_ been close, even as children. It is quite annoying, I must admit. I'm sorry you have to see their childish fondness for each other. Despite now being a woman grown, Arya can still be such a child. Please ignore her behaviour. My lady mother always despaired of making her into a proper lady. She will learn soon enough. And Jon has always been very indulgent of her, just like Father."

Her lord husband looked surprised at her words. A fine eyebrow rose as he looked at her in doubt. His voice still held the same hushed dramatic flair from earlier as he crossed his arms. "I mean a lot of kissing, all over the face. They're always in each other's arms. Jon keeps messing her hair. And they're always entwined whenever they're sitting down, or even if they're standing together. It's as if their shadows have become one."

She nodded along as he kept listing off all of Jon and Arya's antics. "Yes, this is quite common for them. I thought they had outgrown it by now, but I assure you it's all innocent. It's more embarrassing than anything. For a time, Jon stopped indulging Arya when he was with that foreign Dragon Queen he was enamored with. I know Arya was quite heartbroken. I was almost angry at Jon back then because Arya was barely more than a child at the time. Casting her aside after she had been forcibly parted from him for a long time must have been painful for her. He's probably making up for it now with how much he spoils her. I'm sure that after I announce Arya's betrothal, they'll go back to that. Once she's betrothed, Jon will have a chance to actively move on to yet another lover. Perhaps after he's freed from his exile, he'll go to Essos to look for someone like his Dragon Queen."

Willam stared at her in disbelief. "You call their actions just brotherly and sisterly? I'm sorry that I don't understand this. Perhaps it's only the children of high lords that behave this way, like the Targaryens and the Lannisters."

"That is a horrifying comparison," Sansa protested in a panic, feeling sick at the mere idea. "To think that Jon would do something so horrible to the favourite little sister that he loves so much. It's no more than innocent indulgence on his part. And childish expectation on hers. He spoils her so much. Did you know he gifted her with that little sword of hers when she was only nine?"

"Be that as it may," Willam said, shrugging unconcernedly as he picked up his goblet and swished around its contents in a languid manner. "There is dangerous talk amongst your bannermen. I'm sure you've already heard."

"Yes, there is talk of wanting to reinstate Jon as King," Sansa admitted tiredly. "I've heard it all from my spies. The gall of it! How dare they? The treasonous lords will lose their heads over this! My lord father had been strict and honourable when he had been alive, and his people loved him for it. I am my lord father's daughter. If they prove to be regretful in their words, I might forgive them. And I will make them love me with my kindness."

He smiled at her. "You are frightful as you are merciful, my queen."

She nodded, feeling justified. "It is my right to exact justice and discipline, my lord husband."

They looked at each other steadily over the table, a beautiful and dangerous Queen and her handsome lord husband who adored her. He was making her feel all sorts of emotions that she had thought she had long buried and forgotten.

Sansa stood, causing him to follow her actions with his eyes. She paced for a moment before stopping as she caught herself. A Queen did not pace. She found herself lingering in front of a looking glass. Under the warm golden light of late afternoon sun, she admired her reflection.

Before her stood a beautiful Queen in a blue and red velvet gown, the colours of her lady mother's House. Her waist was cinched tightly, held in place by a bodice that looked like elegant silver fish scales. Her breasts were full and heavy, the dip between its bountiful shape highlighted by a yellow opal that was hung on a golden chain, a piece of matching jewelry to her lord husband's. Her sleeves were bell-shaped, almost skin-tight at the shoulders and loose at the wrists where she wore her lace and satin gloves. Her face had been powdered, her lips reddened with rogue. Above her thick auburn hair was her pretty direwolf crown, gleaming in the light of the late afternoon sun. Her blue eyes shone with pride and strength.

Sansa felt moved at the picture she made in the looking glass, for she recognised that she looked very lovely, just like her lady mother. Perhaps even more so.

Willam rose and sauntered close to her, kissing her gently on the cheek. His breath smelled so sweet as he whispered in her ear, "I have missed you so much, my beautiful wife."

She blushed prettily as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Together, in the looking glass, they looked like a proper king and queen. They were both so beautiful, so powerful, smart and talented, and in the springtime of their youth.

Willam brushed his fingers at her sides, causing her to break into sudden melodious laughter. And then he was kissing her once again, in a way that was more passionate than she was used to. It was as if the moment they shared at that moment was something more than duty. 

And then Sansa was kissing him back just as ardently, as heat and excitement pooled inside her belly.

As they made their way to her bedchamber, they smiled and laughed together as they touched each other over their clothes, as if she was Jonquil and he was Florian the Fool, just like in the romantic songs.

Her heart fluttered like a little bird in a cage. She almost believed that she was in love.

***

**Arya Stark**

After a servant led her and Jon to their separate chambers, which were thankfully right next to each other, Arya was forced into a tub filled with fragrant soapy hot water by two of Sansa's handmaidens. The women were familiar: the older one had been an ever-loyal servant to her lady mother, and the younger had been friends with Jeyne Poole.

Arya tried her best to maintain as much dignity as possible as she was rubbed raw in the bath. She was already in a dark mood because of the visit to the crypts, and the fact that Jon had looked at her with burning lust before he disappeared in his chambers caused her center to ache with want. She missed him with all her heart, mind, and body. It was frustrating that since they arrived in Winterfell, they haven't had a chance to spend time together. Even on the way to their chambers, lords and ladies kept stopping them, wanting to talk.

Jon spoke to their distant kin Lady Alys who used to be a Karstark and her free folk husband, Lord Sigorn of Thenn. Arya was introduced to the older woman, learning about how it had been Jon who had helped her out while she escaped marriage to her uncle. It was Jon who had united Alys and Sigorn, creating the new House Thenn, a pioneering combination of wildling and Northerner nobility.

Arya liked Lady Alys and Lord Sigorn immediately, feeling a kinship to them because they seemed to be similar to her and Jon. They looked very much in love, with an intimacy that Arya could clearly recognise.

Arya crouched down and spoke to their firstborn son, and cooed at the baby girl that Alys held in her arms. The children made her feel a pang in her chest as they giggled and smiled. They looked very Northern with their brown hair and dark eyes; it was as if they could belong to Jon and herself. She couldn't help but wonder what their own child would look like.

When she turned to look at Jon, something flashed in his eyes, as he looked from Arya to Alys. Jon tended to do that sometimes, his eyes clouding over in memories when he was looking at her.

For her part, she felt anxious at finding so many familiar people in the crowd when they first arrived. In both surprise and alarm, she found the lords of the Riverlands: her lord uncle Edmure Tully, her grand-uncle Brynden the Blackfish, and one unmistakable Elmar Frey.

Elmar Frey looked completely different from when they had both been only ten years old. He looked like a man grown now, no longer a little boy. He was tall and stocky like Robb had been, and he had inherited Lord Walder Frey's appearance, looking like both a vulture and a weasel. Arya had seethed quietly as their eyes met as she remembered their history together in Harrenhal.

Arya had been the cupbearer to Lord Roose Bolton and also briefly to Lord Tywin Lannister, while Elmar had been Lord Bolton's squire. They had disliked each other.

Elmar Frey liked to boast how he was the son of the Lord of the Crossing, not a nephew or a bastard or a grandson but a trueborn son, and on account of that, he was going to marry a princess. Arya didn't care about his precious princess, and didn't like him giving her commands.

Even today, there had been a look of smugness in the way that he eyed her. Arya didn't understand why Sansa had allowed Elmar Frey to come to Winterfell. Had he been invited just like the hundreds of Sansa's other guests? The whole city was bursting at the seams with the number of lords, ladies, and their retinue.

After talking to a few more eager lords, both she and Jon went straight towards Sansa's solar, keen to start the conversations about the conditions of the smallfolk and the crown's tax policies and management of resources. But Sansa's door had been barred by two of her guards. The Queen must not be disturbed, they said, not by anyone. Not even by her sister.

In her bedchambers, Arya was scrubbed raw by Sansa's servants, her skin flushed and pink. There was something abrasive and impersonal in the way that they touched her, and she couldn't help but draw in on herself as the older woman, Shyra, tutted at the state of her body, from her scars to the dirt that had accumulated in her hair and body from travel.

It made her think of strange men in Braavos who thought nothing of groping her or stealing her first kiss long before she flowered into maidenhood. Old, repressed memories that made her shudder now.

Arya wished fervently that it was Jon with her now. At the end of a long day, back beyond the Wall, it had always been Jon and herself languidly washing each other in a tub of hot water. Jon's hands were gentle and kind, and he always knew how to make her feel good.

"Your lady mother would have been distraught at the state of you," Old Shyra muttered under her breath as her rough hand lathered soap at the length of her back, causing her skin to crawl. The old servant's coal-black eyes flashed in annoyance.

Arya felt tense, gritting her teeth as she tried to hold herself back from talking back at the woman. When they poured water over her head, she closed her eyes. And when she stood, and they began to dry her off, her temper flared ever so slightly when she saw the younger servant grin in amusement at her expense. She couldn't help but recall Sansa and her friends making fun of her in this very castle when she was but a child. No one had ever stopped them. Only Jon had taken her side.

"That is enough. Send for my handmaiden, Donella Snow, and bring her to my chambers at once," Arya commanded in an even tone, measuring her voice not to be hostile. "You will find her in the building where the rest of my retinue were housed. That will be all. I will take it from here."

"But, Your Grace!" Old Shyra protested. Her lips were pursed, and she looked at Arya with disapproval, as Septa Mordane once had.

"Your Grace needs a court handmaiden's touch to make sure you are sufficiently pretty for the feast tonight, just like your beautiful sister," the younger servant simpered. Arya recognised her as the daughter of one of her mother's servants and a friend to Jeyne Poole; her name was Arra. She had once joined Sansa and Jeyne Poole in laughing at Arya behind her back, calling her _Arya Horseface_. Arra sounded jealous when she added, "Countless lords will be in attendance tonight, waiting to meet you."

Arya's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What do you mean?"

"Your gracious sister is about to announce you as her heir," Old Shyra stated, her nose upturned as if Arya was nothing more than an unruly child, as if she was still the wild wolf girl from years ago and had learned no lessons of patience and maturity from her years of survival on her own. "You have been given a rare opportunity at having prospects that befits your station. Your poor lady mother once toiled so much to make you into a proper lady. You owe it to her memory to do well tonight! And to your kind sister too who has given you this chance."

The younger servant couldn't help but gush. "And who knows? Perhaps you will find a suitable lord to your liking tonight!"

Arya resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she wrapped a towel around herself as she stepped out of the tub. Her whole body felt cold, even though it was warmer here than it had been in the True North. She wanted Jon, needed the heat of his skin against hers.

"Please leave," she requested again, and this time, they followed her command, muttering a respectful 'your grace' as the door opened and closed.

Arya turned to look at the dress that they had hung in front of the wardrobe next to the bed. She eyed the cream-coloured Northern dress with curiosity. To her credit, Sansa seemed to have had it cut and tailored to her slim body. It looked like it would fit her perfectly. The only thing she didn't like was the fact that she was going to be forced to wear a tight bodice, like the ones that Sansa favoured. 

As she heard footsteps fading, and the door opening and closing again, she wondered briefly if she should have just let them help her dress. The lacings needed to be tightened by an extra set of hands.

Arya felt a sudden cold shiver running down her spine as if she was being watched. There was someone else in her room, a man rather than the women servants. In alarm, she turned in panic and swung her fist at the figure who loomed behind her. But her hand was caught, her towel falling to the floor.

Jon chuckled darkly as he twisted her wrist for a moment before wrapping his hands around her waist. His calloused fingers grazed gently down her sides until they rested at the juncture of her hips, making her breath hitch from the sensations. The small hairs at the back of her head prickled as his grey eyes slowly devoured her body as he studied her from head to toe.

She felt flushed at his undivided attention. She had almost forgotten how naked she was in front of him. In contrast, he was already in his court clothes, looking very dashing in Targaryen colours of red and black.

"I have missed all of you, my betrothed," he growled in a low voice. His eyes were dark with unbidden lust as they stood before each other.

Arya shivered, biting her bottom lip as she admired him in return, wishing he could be as naked as she was. Jon was very handsome and his long graceful body was tall with strong, battle-hardened muscles. His intoxicating scent was clean and familiar, driving her mad. She lamented, "You are overdressed, Jon."

"Was there something you needed?" Jon teased. He pulled her bare body flush against his clothed one and brushed her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, causing heat to flood every inch of her skin. "You look like you missed me too."

She swallowed thickly as she nodded. She felt herself becoming warm, her slit becoming wet from his touch alone. It had been too long since she's experienced his undivided intimacy. Before she knew it, Jon had lifted her body, his fingers digging into the curve of her arse as he grasped them tightly. A strangled groan left her at the roughness of his touch. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as their mouths crashed together. Their lips were open as their tongues battled for dominance in a hot and filthy kiss.

The feel of his clothed muscles against her bare body caused her skin to prickle as heat pooled in the pit of her belly. Between her legs, she could feel how hard he had gotten, the bulge of his stiff cock pressing into her sensitive inner thighs. She felt dizzy as he started to thrust his clothed hardness against her centre, her slit becoming drenched at the pleasure from the friction. She felt helpless at the onslaught of sensation as Jon continued to ravish her mouth with his, their teeth clacking together, their tongues swirling around each other wetly. He tasted like mint and sex and home, and she was _drowning_.

Jon started to walk forward, still carrying her, and before she knew it, he had slammed their bodies down on the bed, his body heavy on top of hers. He drew his head away slightly, hovering over hers while his arms were perched on each side of her face. Both of them were breathless, their breaths mingling. His eyes were dark as he studied her with a small smile on his lips.

"I have missed your lips," he said as he leaned down once more, gently biting her bottom lip, sucking on it between his teeth. He pulled away to give her a chaste kiss on her lips. His head moved lower, running the tip of his tongue down her chin and neck before nibbling at her collarbones, causing her to arch her back and tighten her legs around his waist. "I missed your skin," he murmured as he avidly licked between her clavicles, causing her to squirm in pleasure as she tightened her legs around him, thrusting up to meet his hardness, needing _more_. 

Arya buried her fingers in his hair and pulled. "Jon, I want - "

But Jon caught her wrists, pinning them above her head.

She whined, half-glaring up at him. "You're acting like a monster right now."

He smirked knowingly before leaning down to lick at the shell of her ear, tugging at it lightly with his teeth. In a dark, sultry tone, he whispered, "Let me take care of you, little sister."

"Fuck!" she cursed, eyes widening at his words. She looked up at him in disbelief, but his eyes had glazed over with arousal and the need to have her.

Jon moved his body back up so that he could press his lips against the sensitive skin of her inner wrists, licking a stripe on each one then blowing on the wetness after.

Arya shivered, her whole body feeling tormented at the pleasure. She tried to fight off his hold on her but Jon didn't budge.

"What do you want, Arya?" he asked as he kissed a trail down her inner arms, focusing on one and then the other. He knew her every weakness and in the wake of his touch, he caused her body to buckle beneath his weight. "Is there something your body craves?"

"I need to feel you inside me," she finally admitted in a broken confession, sounding far too desperate than she intended. She whined, "It's been nearly three weeks!"

Grinning, he finally let go of her wrists then leaned down so they were eye to eye, his lips hovering above hers. She reached up and cupped his stubbled face between her hands and slowly pulled him down so that their mouths could meet again. Closing her eyes, they kissed yet again, more languidly this time.

Afterward, Jon pulled away and moved down her body, his mouth ghosting over her neck before closing over a nipple. His tongue swirled around it again and again as his other hand's thumb grazed over her other nipple. She moaned, eyes rolling back at the pleasure, her hands closing around his hair again and tugging hard.

He chuckled as he switched his attention on the other breast, this time sucking wetly as he slammed his clothed erection against her sensitive wet cunt. Their hips rocked together, her clit finally getting the attention it needed. But it was _definitely_ not enough.

Arya reached down between their bodies, needing to free Jon's cock from his breeches, but he only grinned at her while avoiding her hands by moving his body even lower. He looked quite evil as his lips went to her flat belly. He gave her an open-mouthed kiss there, licking and biting and making her breath hitch as he dipped his tongue in her navel. And then he moved down even lower so that he was between her legs, his thumbs parting her folds. He lazily licked down the length of her slit, from her clit, through her folds, and to her perineum then back up again as her legs trembled around his head.

Then suddenly, Jon pulled away completely as he sat up and hurriedly pulled off his cloak, doublet, and tunic, his hair becoming as messy as hers surely was right now. He unlaced his breeches and his boots, quickly stepping out of them. When he was back on the bed, Arya eagerly went to sit on his lap, running her fingers down the broad length of his muscular back as she pressed their foreheads together.

Eye to eye, they looked at each other with adoration and want. His arms felt like home and safety and warmth in the way that Winterfell no longer was.

"I missed you," Arya admitted hoarsely, her whole body folding into Jon's chest as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. She pressed a kiss upon his brow where his scar marred his handsome face, and another upon each eyelid. She kissed the stubble on his cheek and chin, then lightly bit his adam's apple, making him sigh. She lay her head upon his scarred chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. In a heartfelt voice, she revealed to him, "From the Wall, through the long road south, across fields of gold and green, around mountains, lakes, and rivers, you never left my mind."

"And you, mine," Jon breathed, kissing the top of her hair. His eyes burned with love as he looked down at her, causing warmth to flood her chest.

"I love you," Arya professed as she reached up and wrapped her arms tight around his neck.

"And I love you," Jon answered back, smiling gently as his eyes softened.

For a heartbeat longer, their eyes stared at each other as if they could see into each other's souls. And then, their mouth crashed together once again, their bodies beginning a seductive dance of love and passion.

Arya rocked her body downward, rubbing her centre against the stiff length of his cock. They both groaned, their breaths hitching at the same time.

"Gods, I missed this," Jon growled, his breath feeling so hot against the shell of her ear. His hands cupped her small breasts in his hands as he leaned back slightly, studying her. He massaged them briefly before focusing on her nipples, rolling them between the pads of his calloused fingers. "I missed your breasts."

She kept on rolling her hips down, moaning at the constant pleasure she received at both her nipples and her slit. She ached for him, feeling completely empty without him inside her. Scooting backward so that she was sitting closer to his knees, she bit her lip as she reached down and wrapped her hand around his length. Jon's cock felt hot and heavy in the middle of her palm. She licked her lips as she marvelled at the feel and shape of it, trying to relearn its secrets. It jerked as she grazed her fingers up and down.

"I love this," she admitted, wanting to please him with her own words. "So firm as it burns in my hand. And soft, too, like velvet."

When she looked up, Jon's throat bobbed as he swallowed. It seemed as if it was a trial for him to hold back from pinning her down and ravishing her. She could see it in his eyes.

She forced herself to look away, focusing instead on his manhood. She felt excited as she eagerly yet gently pulled back his foreskin, exposing the shiny flushed tip of the head. She couldn't help but move back and lean down, licking the wet pre-come from the slit and lapping at the head with her tongue. She stroked his length as she opened her mouth and swirled her tongue around the head of his cock. And she grinned in approval when he pushed his cock eagerly inside her mouth.

"No," Jon all but growled in protest, pulling himself away from her mouth. His eyes flashed as he picked her up and placed her back on his lap. His fingers curiously touched the dampness between her legs, thumb brushing against her sensitive nub. Finally, he lifted her hips so that her slit hovered right above his waiting cock. And then he paused as his eyes burned into hers. "Yes?"

"Yes!" she moaned as she sank her body downward out of her own volition, forcing his waiting cock to enter her slick cunt. Her breath hitched as he breached her with the head of his cock and suddenly, the rest of his length slammed hard inside her. Her knees trembled at the pleasure and friction, but his hands were there to help guide her hips. He felt so large inside her, especially as they haven't fucked for weeks. It ached dully for a moment, but it was the kind she craved. He felt so good inside her.

When she was firmly seated, his cock breaching her slit so completely that they became one, Jon leaned down and kissed her brow. His voice was hoarse. "I missed this most of all," he confessed in a rush. "Missed being inside you, making love to you, owning you, and belonging to you."

Arya could hear her heartbeat in her ears, a loud rush, as she swallowed thickly. He was looking at her as if she was everything to him, and she, in turn, knew she could only belong to him. There were no words that could describe the vast emotion that she felt for him. Jon was everything she could ever want, could ever need. And she loved him with all her heart.

Jon dug his fingers into her hips as he guided her up, and Arya nodded as she started a pace, impaling herself with his cock shallowly at first before becoming bolder. Soon, she was pulling up enough so that only the head of his cock was brushing at her entrance before she slammed her hips down, fucking herself needily so that he was inside her from root to tip. Her body felt hot with her exertion as she squeezed herself around his girth. Jon grabbed a loose fistful of her hair, pulling her head back as he pressed his lips against her throat. He teased her there with his tongue and teeth grazing against her skin.

Finally, Jon took control of her hips with one hand as he thrust upwards to meet her movements. His other hand splayed into the small of her back, stroking her sensitive skin there. His mouth desperately found hers again, and they moaned together as they hungrily devoured each other. He kept sinfully murmuring words whenever their mouths parted for air.

"My little sister," he would say with love. Or with need, "My betrothed," Or in a needy, possessive growl, "My bride."

Arya felt so dizzy as fire began to pool low in her abdomen. She cursed unintelligible words as she cried out his name, "Jon, fuck, Jon, please - "

"I've got you," he murmured in her ear in reassurance, holding her close as he lowered her body on the bed. His fingers brushed along her cheekbones as he looked tenderly into her eyes, conveying care and love for her that was quickly becoming overcome by fiery, obsessive lust.

And then suddenly, Arya felt herself being folded in half as Jon pushed her knees against her shoulders, her legs opened wide as his cock sank so deeply inside her wet cunt.

A throaty moan escaped her as her inner walls shuddered in pleasure, vibrating from the inside at the feel and slide of his heated length constantly moving in and out. It felt so good to have him pounding intensely inside her.

The wet sound of their coupling was loud as he began a relentless pace, his breathing harsh against her ears. She almost felt helpless as he took her roughly in his passion, his fingers eagerly clutching her hips. She clung on to him for dear life, her pleasure mounting higher and higher, as her insides sparked with intense sensation, like lightning ripping through her. The sight of his gleaming wet cock disappearing inside her body, again and again, made her moan his name repeatedly as she felt each of his thrust so deeply.

Soon, she felt all of it mounting as he reached between their bodies, stroking the slippery little nub right above where they were connected. As he rubbed her clit between his fingers, she began to thrust back against his movements while he continued to fuck her frantically into the mattress. 

She felt so intoxicated, blood roaring in her ears. Her entire body shook as her slit began to clench and shudder around Jon's cock, and then became tense as she held her breath. And as Jon's mouth descended upon hers, swallowing her scream, her entire body jerked, once, twice, before going still.

Jon kissed her deeply, his hands now cupping the sides of her face. He kept on fucking her, making love to her, or both, until he too groaned deep in his throat. His entire body shuddered as his cock spilled his seed deep inside her. 

When he collapsed on top of her, her insides clenched wetly around his cock, making him groan. Every part where their body touched felt so sensitive, and her limbs started to feel heavy as she panted tiredly into the hollow of his shoulder, his hair brushing against her face.

Gently, he pulled himself out of her body, both of them making a face at each other and looking amused at the feel of the wetness between them.

"Are you okay?" Jon asked tiredly as he drew back enough to look at her in concern.

She nodded, smiling up at him wearily. "That was everything I wanted. Are you okay?"

He smiled at her before kissing her forehead. "Never better."

They stayed like that for a moment more before a thought occurred to her. In a panic, she turned to look at the door to her chambers. Her heart stopped when she found it unbarred. Anyone could have walked in on them, even Sansa.

"Jon!" she cried, pushing at his shoulders in alarm as she tried to escape from him so she could secure the door.

But Jon only held her tighter, unwilling to let her go just yet. He raised a brow. "What is it?"

"The door, crazy dragonwolf!" she pointed out. "You forgot to barricade it! And Donella is supposed to arrive here at any moment."

But he only laughed. "I told her to come back in an hour."

She groaned, shaking her head. She would never hear the end of it from her well-meaning handmaiden. But then she remembered once more, "But the door is still unbarred!"

Jon grinned at her like an idiot. "Ghost and Nymeria are at the door, guarding us. I called them back. I want them by our sides tonight at the feast."

Arya swatted his arm lightly, pouting. "You meant for me to have a fright, didn't you?"

He shook his head, although his eyes still danced with mirth. "I would never, my beautiful wolf girl."

Arya couldn't help but smile up at him as his knuckles grazed languidly down her cheek. "Are you ready for the feast tonight? Another farce and too many lords to meet and greet."

Jon nodded solemnly then became serious all of a sudden. "Arya, today, at the crypts - "

"Don't," Arya whispered, shaking her head. "I told you there were a lot of things that you still need to learn about me. Maybe tomorrow. I'm ready. I think I want to tell you everything before I am wed to you at the heart tree."

"You don't have to," Jon vowed. "And even if you do, you can tell me every terrible thing that you did. No matter what, I will love you anyway."

Arya's heart squeezed painfully in both hurt and love. She felt as if she couldn't ever deserve him, but she knew it was a lie. Jon would want her no matter what.

She thought of Sansa who looked so much like her mother now, and the crypts where they had visited the bones of their family. She thought of Lady Stoneheart who fell from her own sword in the Riverlands and Eddard Stark who lost his head in front of her at Kings Landing. She thought of Grey Wind who had been unnecessarily murdered and then her brother Robb whose desecrated body had been paraded so cruelly in the streets of the Crossing.

Father, Mother, Robb and Rickon - all of them gone for ever.

She thought of all the atrocities she’d witnessed and had done herself, the dead bodies on the roads, the dead attacking her home, the buildings burning, the people burning. Her hands had killed again and again, and she will probably never know peace inside her mind. And yet, there was one thing she was sure of...

 _Jon will always want me, even if no one else will,_ she thought. And she believed this with all her heart.

She tightened her arms around him, burying her face in his hair. "My husband," she whispered lovingly. And yet, she couldn’t help but feel for him, to remember about what had been stolen from him, from Winterfell to Kings Landing. They stole his birthright in the South as well as the North, and they even took away his freedom after everything he’s done for Westeros. And so with love, once more, she professed her vow to him from a day long ago, in their home beyond the Wall. "My King."

His shoulders tensed briefly before he embraced her tightly, holding her so closely against his chest, against his heart where she belonged. "My lovely wife," he breathed against her ear. And in a heartfelt tone that almost sounded like a promise, he vowed to her, "My Winter Queen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Thank you for all the extremely supportive readers! This fic wouldn't have gotten this way without all your comments and support. Most of my ideas come from conversations I've had with you so please don't hesitate to drop me a line. I may not get to respond to your comments but I really want to - I just don't have enough time. I do read them all!  
> (2) Forgive me for the slow output of chapters. I truly wanted to have a regular 1-2 week turnaround for chapters but as you've noticed, the chapters have gotten out of control in length. I also am very busy in real life so I only have a few minutes to an hour to work every few days.  
> (3) Even though the chapter was lengthy, you may have noticed that there's been no confrontation yet between Jon, Arya, and Sansa. It's because I want to believe that despite everything else that's going on, they are all still Ned's children and will not go to all-out war the moment they're in the same place. I prefer GRRM's dogma of 'the human heart in conflict with itself.' But don't worry, we'll get there. It'll be worth it eventually.  
> (4) I also wanted to concentrate on some key things that the show glazed over, especially with the Starks. No one even knew that Arya was at the Red Wedding - not inside, but in the same location. She witnessed a lot of horrific things at the Crossing. Also, this one is ASOIAF book only but Lady Stoneheart will most likely play a major part in Arya's plotline. And she has Robb's crown and had wanted Arya to be Robb's heir in the books. Additionally, I wanted to include what most ASOIAF readers think will happen between LSH and Arya. Sorry for the angst but it needed to be acknowledged! Also, I retconned Arya doing the Frey pies because it was Lord Manderly who had done it in the books. Despite everything she's been through, Arya likely won't go down that route in the books. I foresee her reuniting with Nymeria and the Brotherhood without Banners, as well as LSH. I think she'll be key in freeing the prisoners at the Crossing and bringing down House Frey but she won't kill them all. She'll leave it to the Lord of the Riverlands, which is her Uncle Edmure who she'll have freed. I think she may kill Lord Frey though and that her reaction will be more like when Joffrey died - not gloating or happy or full of bloodlust. But more of a sense of emptiness and hurt because her family is still dead.  
> (5) So many ASOIAF key characters had a cameo: the lovely couple Alys Karstark and her wildling husband Sigorn of Thenn, the Blackfish, and Elmar Frey. We will see more of the lords and ladies of the North in the next chapter. Looking forward to writing more about Howland Reed.  
> (6) About characterisations and storylines - even though this is based on the show's ending, everything is reverting back to canon verse which is from George's masterpiece books. And Sansa is really difficult for me to write so if you find inconsistencies, it's because her show and her canon personalities are vastly different. This goes for Jon and Arya too. Don't even get me started on poor Bran. I hope I could revert him back to his book personality later on. :(  
> (7) I finished this last Sunday but had to add the Jonrya smut at the end, due to high demand from some readers. ;) I think three weeks worth of dry spell (travel from the Wall to Winterfell) had tortured them enough. I wanted them to live their best life (especially since Sansa was about to get it on with her husband too).  
> (8) Again thank you and I'm looking forward to what you all think! Hope you enjoy it and if you have any suggestions, let me know. I appreciate all the support! :)


	18. Interlude: The North Remembers

**Maege Mormont**

"And so we are again gathered, old men and women in the halls of our fallen liege lord," Lady Maege Mormont toasted, raising a cup of mead. To the lords who sat at her table, she announced, "To Lord Eddard! And to King Robb!"

"Aye," the rest of the lords echoed as they raised their own cups in the air. "To Lord Eddard! To King Robb!"

She sipped her mead slowly, coal-black eyes carefully surveying everyone around her. She had chosen to sit with the men who had been sworn to the secrecy of the contents of Robb's final issue: Galbart Glover who sat beside his brother and heir Robett, Greatjon Umber, Jason Mallister, Raynald Westerling, Edmure Tully, Howland Reed, and even the captain of the ship,  _Myraham_. All of them who knew of or had dealt with King Robb's will.

"I never thought I would see the day when we would all be reunited under one roof," Lord Raynald Westerling muttered with glazed eyes, his mind elsewhere. "In the halls of the Winter Kings, no less. It seems like it was just yesterday when I was at the Red Wedding, living through the horror. Robb and I, we were like brothers. He became my good brother, married to my sister Jeyne."

"And yet you betrayed him all the same is what I’ve heard," Lord Greatjon Umber sniffed in contempt. "Aye, I was there as well, Raynald. I have heard the rumours that Lord Tywin Lannister meant to marry you off to his bastard niece, Joy Hill."

"That is a lie!" snapped Raynald Westerling, his face becoming red with anger. "How dare you accuse me of treason? You should know now that it was a mere misunderstanding, a lie. I surrendered my sword to Ser Whalen Frey and freed the direwolf Grey Wind from his chains in the stables when Frey men tried to kill him. I was hit with an arrow from a crossbow and fell in the Green Fork. And my poor dear sister, well, you know the rest."

"Aye," Maege lamented sadly, her heart heavy. "She was murdered with her husband, King Robb, and with Lady Catelyn too. And my brave daughter Dacey died with the rest of the Northerners in Lord Frey’s halls after they were invited as guests."

"Forever young," Lord Edmure Tully muttered into his cups, his voice drenched in restrained agony. He looked them all in the eye as he said his next words, "To my king nephew, King Robb! And to his queen, Jeyne!" And then his eyes became wet in emotion as his voice broke, "And my dear sister Cat."

"To Dacey Mormont," Lord Galbart Glover lamented, raising his cup and causing others to follow his actions - all of them toasting to the memory of the Northern men and women they had lost in the bloody Red Wedding. "Smalljon Umber, Donnel Locke, Owen Norrey. To the Tallharts, Cerwyns, Flints -- "

"And my son Wendell!" interrupted Lord Wyman Manderly in a loud booming voice. He staggered towards them as if he was already drunk, his hand holding up a goblet unsteadily so that the golden liquid within sloshed all over the front of his green velvet doublet. He looked to be bursting at the seams of his clothes because of how plump he was at the waist. His House arms of a white merman with dark green hair stretched over the bulge of his massive belly.

"If it isn't Lord Lard himself," Greatjon Umber muttered darkly as he stood and glared daggers at the Lord of White Harbour.

The entire table and the other rows around them fell silent, most of them in fear at Greatjon's height and strength. Fearsome stories about his feats during not only the War of the Five Kings but also the Red Wedding preceded him, making him seem like a legend worthy of a song. The tension was palpable, and people were on edge.

For his part, Lord Wyman raised a brow for a few heartbeats before his blank face twisted into a smirk. He threw his head back and let out an uproarious laugh.

And in an uncharacteristic response, Greatjon followed his lead, both of them dominating the entire hall with their loud, boisterous laughter. Around them, everyone else sighed collectively in relief, and there was music, dancing, and merriment once more.

As Greatjon took a swig of ale from his cup, Wyman Manderly sat next to Maege and gave her a tired grin. "It seems as if we're all still kicking then, so alive in our old age. What a feat to survive everything thus far. I lost my son Wendell at the Twins, yet in addition to the children you’ve already lost then, the Greatjon lost his little son Ned, and you, your little bear Lyanna during the winter war. Gods be good, the world was supposed to end three years ago, and yet here we are."

"Aye," Maege agreed, nodding at Wyman with a weary smile. Her heart was broken as she thought of her fierce youngest daughter Lyanna, the Little She-Bear of House Mormont. "Here we are, indeed. Outliving even our sons and daughters."

"If you must know," Lord Wyman muttered, turning to the rest of the table. He had a gracious smile for everyone. "I've asked the cooks to make some pies for everyone. I hope you'll all like it."

As one, the entire table cursed him while others laughed at his jape.

"I've heard the rumours of what you did to the Boltons and the Freys," Lord Robett Glover said, shuddering in disgust. "I will never trust your pies. But I must say you have some gumption, Lord Wyman. To do that to our enemies, at Princess Arya's own wedding to the Bolton bastard."

"Correction, a fake Arya!" Ser Brynden the Blackfish spat out as if he was offended. He was sitting by his nephew Lord Edmure, and both of them looked sour at the mention of Arya's supposed wedding to Ramsay Bolton. The Blackfish had been quiet the entire time as he brooded, his whole body tense as they all waited for the arrival of the royal party.

As if he didn't hear the interruption, Wyman Manderly ranted, "My son Wendel came to the Twins a guest. He ate Lord Walder's bread and salt, and hung his sword upon the wall to feast with friends. And they murdered him. Murdered, I say, and may the Freys choke upon their fables. I drank with Jared, japed with Symond, promised Rhaegar the hand of my own beloved granddaughter. But never did I forget! The North remembers! And just like when the bloody Boltons used to haunt these halls, we have all gathered once more for the same girl, Valiant Ned's little girl. The time has come. I know why you all have gathered, you who have direct knowledge of the contents of King Robb's will. The North remembers, and the mummer's farce is almost done!"

"Keep it down, you drunken fool!" Maege chastised the plump lord, pulling him by the front of his green velvet doublet and shaking him roughly. She could feel the fat of his four chins beneath her fingers, and she let him go immediately, feeling a little bit disgusted as he chortled in amusement. She glared at him as she hissed in a whisper, "You are openly speaking of treason. The queen has spies everywhere. Control yourself."

They murmured amongst themselves for a while, most of them giving Wyman Manderly a piece of their minds for his indiscretion.

After some time, they were surprised to hear Howland Reed clearing his throat and reluctantly speaking.

Maege could count on one hand the times when she has been in the company of the crannogman lord. The longest she's ever spent time with him was over five years ago when she and Galbart Glover had been sent by King Robb to deliver a copy of his will to the Lord of the hard-to-find Greywater Watch.

Lord Howland was a small man, like all crannogmen, and he was quiet. There was great sadness in his eyes, an ancient grief. But he was also the key to the North, the one who had all the answers. He was the keeper of the Northern secrets. With his mere presence, he could turn the tide and save them all.

"I wasn't able to see them earlier, Jon and Arya, when we were in the crowd," Howland mumbled quietly as if he didn't want to draw attention to himself. He was very self-deprecating and humble, unused to all the attention. "Too many tall lords in front of me, and as you can see, I'm still very short."

"You do sell yourself short," Lord Galbart retorted, his tone gruff but his lips with a kind smile. "I know quite well how important you are, Lord Howland."

Howland's eyes widened in shock and alarm as if he had been caught.

"The will!" Maege whispered to him to remind him. "That's what he meant."

"Oh," he stammered. His face was red. "That."

Maege wondered if he was thinking of something else. Or if he actually went all the way North from the Neck just to forget the sealed will. Her eyes narrowed. "You did bring it with you, didn't you, Lord Howland?"

"Aye, I did," he reassured them with a steady voice. In half a heartbeat, his reluctance faded, replaced by ancient and dangerous steel. "Everything that Jon needs is in my possession."

Maege's eyes lingered on Howland for a moment more, and when he looked towards her, she saw clearly what he meant.

 _Jon will be king once more before the week is over,_ his eyes promised.

And for that, Maege Mormont agreed with all her heart.

"The North remembers," she reminded the rest of the lords in a soft but meaningful voice, fire in her eyes as she looked them all in the eye.

"The North remembers," they affirmed in one voice, nodding to each other in agreement.

***

**Edmure Tully**

Both he and his uncle, the Blackfish, were quiet as the lords and ladies of the North caught up with each other, japing and laughing as they drank to their heart's content. As for them, they were both tense.

His niece Sansa had invited him a moon ago to visit Winterfell so that they could resolve their differences, as well as to welcome back Princess Arya after a long journey across the Sunset Sea. Arya was to be proclaimed as the heir because three years of Sansa's recent marriage had not produced a trueborn child to stabilise the Northern kingdom.

Upon receiving the raven with the direwolf seal, Edmure had scoffed at the letter. He had almost chucked it in the fire burning at the hearth. It was his lady wife Roslin who stopped him, pointing out that he owed it to Princess Arya to go North and settle matters with the Starks. Three years had passed since Edmure was humiliated in front of the high lords and ladies of Westeros. Sansa had mocked him publicly despite everything that he had gone through during the war, especially the sacrifices he had done for the Starks.

In his nephew King Robb's stead after the boy broke his solemn vow, Edmure had been forced to marry Lord Frey's daughter. He was fortunate that Roslin Frey was a good woman, dependable even as she toiled against the Lannisters, who antagonised her and their infant son during the war. 

Edmure had been rotting in cages as a result of the Red Wedding, moved around from Frey to Lannister holdfasts. And while he did, a mysterious Lady Stoneheart had been intent on trying to burn the Riverlands in search of the murdered King in the North's little sister who she proclaimed to all was Robb's heir. Arya the Princess Heir.

But that was not what the North knew. In the North, they all seemed to have forgotten who had freed the countless captive lords imprisoned by the Freys and Lannisters. They have easily cast aside the crowned trueborn Stark girl in favour of Ned's bastard and then Lady Sansa Lannister, who claimed to be the current Queen.

His uncle, the Blackfish, had confessed to him three years ago when he was deep in his cups. Uncle Brynden's eyes were wet as he told him about Lady Stoneheart and the Stark girl who had managed to bring about the fall of House Frey. Through him, Edmure learned about his older sister Catelyn who had haunted the Riverlands as the gruesome wight Lady Stoneheart and how it had fallen to her little daughter to put her out of her misery. In secret but witnessed by the Blackfish, Arya had been crowned as Robb's heir by her own lady mother.

But it seemed as if it was all for nought.

Even after Arya went North with her wolves, and after she had struck the killing blow to the leader of the Others, she faded into obscurity as her sister took the crown despite King Robb's will - despite King Jon's will as well for that matter. Losing her place in Winterfell, Arya had boarded a ship and sailed west in a journey that anyone with half a brain knew was suicide. No one had ever survived going west of Westeros.

Uncle Brynden had wept as he showed Edmure their niece’s cold winter crown and told him about the day when Princess Arya had been forced to give the gift of mercy to her own mother. In horror, Edmure's tears spilt as he felt helpless, unable to help Cat's youngest daughter in her desperate quest for self-destruction.

"Why have you brought the damn boy?" Lord Umber grumbled in exasperation. He looked enraged as he glared at Ser Elmar Frey from across the hall. "A Frey isn't welcome in the North, not anymore. Did you mean to cause offence? I know Lady Lannister's words and actions from before caused a rift between your Houses, but it is a family matter truly. There's no need to offend the entire North. That Frey boy will be dead before the night is over!"

Edmure took a deep breath as he looked over to where Elmar Frey was dancing with a young lady-in-waiting who was of an age with him. The poor girl looked harassed as she tried to be courteous to his attentions, and when the song was over, she ran as fast as she could from him while still trying to look polite.

"Elmar Frey is my ward," he revealed tiredly. "The youngest brother of my lady wife. He is less troublesome with me than if I left him with his sister. And if you may have forgotten, I am married to a Frey because my nephew Robb didn't fulfill his promise to the Freys. Everyone may hate House Frey. I was one of them myself. But the boy has been raised under my roof since I was freed from captivity. With the captured Freys who participated in the massacre of the Red Wedding, I was able to win back Riverrun from the rest of the Freys who held it. And yet I took my castle back with a Frey wife and a half-Frey child. And as I served justice against those who had murdered my sister and nephew, after a trial, I kept only the innocent ones. The younger boys I took as my wards, the youngest one being Elmar. Uncle Brynden became Lord of the Crossing, holding it for Arya until she returned to claim it."

"Arya?" Maege Mormont queried in shock, her eyebrows shooting up into her grey fringe. Her eyes were wide. "You don't mean Princess Arya? Did she do something else that I wasn't aware of?"

"You should already know this," Lord Robett Glover said to her. "Haven't I told you? In Harrenhal?"

"Not Harrenhall," Lord Umber said in exasperation. "Princess Arya is technically the Lady of the Crossing through right of conquest because she took down Lord Frey with the Brotherhood without Banners who followed her leadership. She took the Twins and avenged the Red Wedding. Does the North not remember this?"

At the silence that answered him, Edmure crossed his arms in front of his chest as he seethed.

"My poor grand-niece Arya, after everything she has accomplished as a young girl in the Riverlands, no one in the North has acknowledged what she's done," complained Brynden the Blackfish. "The North may not remember, but in this instance, the lords of the Riverlands  _do_  remember. We know who avenged the Red Wedding and caused the fall of House Frey. Who was usurped twice over by her half-brother and her sister, Lady Lannister."

"The North wouldn't have accepted her," Edmure commented out to his uncle in a low tone, not wanting anyone else to hear. "No one seems to know her importance in the North. Even now, her sister only means to sell her for gold. Why do you think she left to commit suicide in the Sunset Sea? If my sister only knew what had happened to her poor daughter."

"Dear Cat, who I loved very much, favoured Sansa over the daughter she always said was a trial to raise," the Blackfish pointed out. "I'm not so sure that she would be so upset that it was Sansa who took the crown in the end, even if she is a Lannister in name."

"What are you whispering about?" scowled Lady Mormont as she looked at them both in suspicion. "You wouldn't be talking about King Jon now, would you? You may be a high lord in the South, but in the North, it is King Jon who we had chosen. So there's no need to conspire against him. After all, you were there when King Robb created his will. And you know the truth."

Edmure frowned but said nothing else, knowing the truth. But it still pained him somehow. House Tully had been a bastion of honour and pride once when his lord father Hoster had been alive. Their influence was far-reaching with Catelyn wed to the Lord Paramount of the North and Lysa wed to the Lord Paramount of the East. And with Edmure set to inherit as the heir of Riverrun, it had been a golden age full of hope. Now, Edmure's legacy had been tampered for ever when he married a Frey, for everyone hated that family. And one by one, his sisters fell until the only Tully left were himself and his uncle the Blackfish.

The memory of soft eyes and gentle hands flashed into his mind briefly, and he couldn't help but smile as he was reminded of his kind lady wife.

And yes, there was Roslin too who loved him, and he loved in return. And then there was his son and heir, Medgar. And finally, there was the baby who he possibly missed the most, his little daughter, Minisa, who he named after his mother. His little babe, not yet three, looked like the grandmother she never met, but her personality was very much like Arya. Beautiful and graceful but with the steel and fierceness of her famed warrior princess cousin. Already little Minisa kept chasing after her older brother Medgar, using fallen branches as swords. Her lady mother, Roslin, was always worried about their daughter's future.

No, House Tully was not dead yet. But Edmure would be damned if he wouldn't honour his sister Cat's final wish. That was why he went North. That, and their forsaken family's need to mend the broken bonds from three years ago.

***

**Wyman Manderly**

It was easy enough to play the fat fool even if the other lords and ladies knew him enough not to be tricked by his mummery. It was better to be at his guard.

A gathering of all of the Northern bannermen under one roof, in the same hall, was a worrisome thing. As the rest of them spoke amongst themselves, Wyman studied not only the people at his table but the other highborn men and women around the hall.

Queen Sansa had summoned them all for three reasons. One was the celebration of Spring in which they were to welcome back the Hero of Winterfell. It was a cause to be happy, but Wyman knew it was also a smokescreen to veil the hardships that the North was experiencing. The Spring Feast was supposed to last an entire week starting with merriment tonight. Next would be a celebration in the streets of Winter Town for both the highborn and smallfolk people, complete with mummers, singers, and fools. 

There would also be a religious procession to honour the Faith of the Seven which the Queen favoured as much as the Old Gods, culminating in pious prayer at the beautiful and lavish refurbished sept that Sansa was very proud of. And then there would be a day to have the knights of the North battling it out valiantly in tourneys where maidens would fondly wish to become the victor's Queen of Love and Beauty. It was all very Southern, things that the Queen had loved in her time away from Winterfell. The most Northern part of the Festival was at the end which would comprise of a simple solemn prayer at the godswood, in front of the heart tree.

The second reason for the summons was so that Sansa could establish her political strength as Queen. From handsomely-paid spies inside this castle, Wyman learned that Sansa was going to announce to all of her intention to name her little sister Arya as her heir. Having Arya in Winterfell to add to the dwindling number of Starks would help establish her relevance, especially since Arya was popular. The people loved Ned's little girl, who inspired songs up and down the country. No one forgot that they had all fought for her during the war against the Boltons nor what she did for all of them during the Long Night.

And this led to the third reason for the summons. Now that Arya was here, there was one more matter. Arya was unwed and would make the perfect political currency for Sansa. Lords would fight tooth and nail to be wed to her, for whoever will have her will also have Winterfell. And whoever the lucky lord will be who gets to wed the heir will be paying up to the crown. Sansa will likely demand a hefty dowry, and Wyman, as the richest lord in the North, was prepared to pay. He had brought his brother's son, Ser Gwayne Manderly, the only young man who was still unwed in his family. 

Gwayne, who was a knight who had represented White Harbour during the War against the Others, was only twenty, only a few years older than Arya. He was gallant and dependable, smart, and handsome. And he was a true warrior who could match Arya's supposed achievements during the war. Most importantly, he was a Manderly who upheld Wyman's ideals and would do well for their family's future. And to Sansa, it should be more than an acceptable match.

But his nephew was not alone. Already, he could see the young and even old men who were keenly looking towards the heavy wooden double doors of the hall.

There was the gallant Lord Edric Dayne of Starfall who hailed all the way from Dorne. He was possibly Gwayne's biggest competition for the young man was the lord of his own castle, and had the legacy of coming from such a noble house. The young man was tall and everything a lord and knight should look like with his handsome face, muscular frame, and the great sword strapped on his back: Dawn. He looked like he had stepped out of the songs, and if Rhaegar Targaryen had a son alive, he would probably look like Edric Dayne with his long pale blond hair and striking blue almost-purple eyes.

There was also Ser Elmar Frey, who was a young river knight and was a ward of Lord Edmure Tully. His presence here was laughable for no Stark would ever be wed to a Frey, especially after the War of the Five Kings. Despite having no hope to win the princess though, the young man looked oddly thrilled to be here, with a light in his eyes that was full of excited anticipation. He looked very much like most Freys with his sharp, weasel-like features, although he had grown to be tall and muscular. He could even be considered comely with his laughing brown eyes and brown hair that fell to his shoulders. There was something about him that made him stand out from the rest of the Freys. Elmar Frey had been partly raised in his good brother Lord Edmure Tully's household, with his sister Roslin to guide him as he grew to become a man. Did Tully influences change him for the better?

There was also the other prospective suitors: the unmarried lords in their twenties and thirties like Lord Donnel Flint, Lord Robard Cerwyn, Lord Olyvar Wull, Lord Morgan Widdle, and countless others. They came from all over the North, even some from the Neck and Flint's Fingers. There were a few outliers who came from other kingdoms, the wealthier ones who were driven North for the chance to gain power through marrying into a house as old and noble and powerful as House Stark. All of them hoped to win the hand of the princess.

And then there was the horrible Cregan Karstark who had once chased Lady Alys to the Wall from Karhold, hoping to wed her to steal her birthright through marriage. He had once been imprisoned in the ice cells of Castle Black when Jon Snow had been the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. But Cregan Karstark was able to escape during the confusion of the mutiny that had killed Jon. Cregan had vanished for years after that, licking his wounds and biding his time, but he was now back in the public eye as if everyone forgot what had happened to him in Castle Black.

At the moment, Lady Alys stared at him with daggers in her eyes, while her lord husband Sigorn of Thenn clutched on to the hilt of the dirk strapped at his waist as he glared at the man. It seemed as if Cregan was foolish enough to want to wed Winterfell's heir, a girl who was young enough to be his granddaughter.

And then there was Ser Harrold Hardyng, who was a knight of the Vale, and former heir to the Eyrie. He was very handsome with his sandy hair, deep blue eyes, and the dimples that appeared on his cheeks when he smiled. Ser Harry had once been betrothed to Sansa when she had pretended to be Petyr Baelish's bastard daughter, Alayne Stone. He was supposed to inherit the Eyrie from his cousin Robert Arryn.

But against all the odds, the young lord Robert had survived the ails of his childhood. Surrounded by good lords and maesters who genuinely wanted the best for him and without the coddling of his lady mother and the interference of Lord Petry Baelish, he grew in wisdom, strength, and power. Despite still being so young at fourteen, he had hurriedly wed a noble girl and from that union, was able to produce an heir from his own seed.

House Arryn's bannermen had no choice but to support their young lord. And Ser Harry, the  _Young Falcon_ , was relegated to be his knight and closest confidant. Both Ser Harry and Lord Robert had journeyed North with select bannermen just like Lord Edmure Tully, on invitation from his cousin Sansa.

It seemed as if Sansa was also using this gathering of the most powerful lords of the North, the Vale, and the Riverlands to reestablish free trade between the three kingdoms hopefully. Perhaps she was going to apologise for the falling out that she had caused during the council in King's Landing from three years ago. It was a wise move, a reliable solution to the crippling poverty of the North.

If the borders were to be reopened with more favourable tax policies with the Southron kingdoms and with Sansa hopefully amassing a considerable dowry from marrying off her sister Arya, perhaps there was a political mind in her after all.

The only thing left would be to haggle like a fishwife with both the Iron Bank of Braavos, as well as the Sealord of the same Free City. But that was a problem for another day.

***

**Edric Dayne**

He considered himself fortunate for having the opportunity to leave the confines of Starfall, to learn from men and women from all over Westeros. Lately, he found himself amongst the Northerners.

They were a hardy bunch, and some were rough around the edges, but they meant well, and most had earned his respect. Their humour was dry and quick, and their hearts were as passionate as the burning summers of his childhood in Dorne. Throughout the long journey from Wall to Winterfell, Ned learned about the sacrifices and losses that the North had endured throughout the countless wars and the long winter. Soon enough, he felt a strong kinship towards them, most notably to his childhood friend Arya and his milk brother Jon.

Through the three weeks he'd spent with them, he learned far too many things about them that he did not expect. In Jon, he found a kindred spirit and they had become friends. They bonded through stories they shared - about the wars, arms training, and Dorne and its people. They were both born there, and they had once shared the same wet nurse. He grew to love them, to become true friends with them, just like Ashara Dayne had once been friends with Eddard Stark.

One night, Ned swore to Jon and Arya that Starfall would always welcome them as friends. And in turn, they both gave him their word that they will always call him friend, and will always welcome him no matter what home they may belong to.

Ned also crossed swords with Jon  _and_  Arya, sparring with them or watching them train with one another. Ned had been raised into knighthood, a page then a squire to his uncle, Lord Beric Dondarion, during the War of the Five Kings. Through all the skirmishes and battles that had plagued Dorne and the surrounding regions during the war, he earned the right to carry and wield  _Dawn_  and be called the  _Sword of the Morning_ just like his famed uncle, Ser Arthur Dayne. Princess Arianne Martell had been the one to knight him in Sunspear after he led her armies in the battle to retake her birthright from a usurper lord cousin.

In their arms training, Ned was unsurprised to find Jon to be more than his equal. Jon was quick and brutal, with grace, power, and relentlessness that came from fighting in countless large-scale battles. Jon kept beating him, but he was able to defeat the older man in almost equal numbers. Ned had been blessed with skills that he learned from various fighters from all over the land, some from valiant knights of great Houses and others from dirty tricksters and criminals belonging to the Brotherhood without Banners.

Against Arya, Ned held himself back a little sometimes because of the raw power imbalance, smiling at her as she faced him with that skinny sword of hers,  _Needle_. From the sidelines, Jon watched with interest when they fought, eager and entranced as his attention focused only on Arya.

Ned tried to ignore the darkness that gleamed in Jon's eyes, but he came to understand it after a while. Jon was intensely in love with his cousin, who had been raised as his sister, and it consumed him completely. With his resurrection after he was killed in Castle Black, Jon became quite obsessive according to hushed whispers, a little like the horrible wight of Lady Stoneheart who Ned had met once, before he left the Brotherhood to go back south to Dorne.

But Jon's only obsession was Arya.

While he sparred with Arya, Ned let himself ignore their audience as he and his younger friend fought almost gracefully, as if they were merely moving in a dance. He would move forward with his sword outstretched, and she would twist her lithe body away with a grin. Their swords barely clashed for she was swift and light of feet. She moved just like water. In Arya, Ned was reminded of the Water Gardens of House Martell.  _Beautiful._

The Gardens were located on a beach next to the Summer Sea, three leagues west of Sunspear on a coastal road. Pale pink marble paved the gardens and courtyard. Terraces overlooked the numerous pools and fountains of the Water Gardens, shaded by blood orange trees. The Water Gardens were pleasant in autumn: hot days, cool nights, the salt breeze blowing in from the sea, and fountains and pools to admire and play in.

Arya was like the sun, like the moon, like wind and water. And Ned had been  _entranced_ and felt so  _fond_  of her. But only in his mind.

In another life, if Lord Eddard Stark had not been executed in King's Landing, Ned imagined that Arya could have been betrothed to him eventually because their families had once been connected. She was suited to a life in Dorne where women were leaders and commanded respect and fealty from its people, where the merits of a woman's life did not depend on bearing children: on the accomplishments of her male children or the advantages that her female children's marriages could bring.

Dorne would love that she was a warrior-princess like Queen Nymeria.

In another life, they would grow old together in Starfall, on the island of Torentine which overlooked the Red Mountains. Where the beaches were white and the Sunset Sea waters were warm, and the sky was always painted in light blues or reds and oranges, as far as the eye could see. Their children, as beautiful as their princess mother, would play in the Water Gardens just like he once did when he was just a little boy.

But it was just a dream.

Whenever Ned and Arya finished sparring, he bowed to her respectfully and she, in turn, did the same, both of them cherishing their long-standing friendship most of all. Whenever they had time to speak together, their bond grew stronger as they reminisced about their ruined childhood during the war. They shared stories about the short time they had known each other in the Brotherhood. They also learned about the lives they’ve lived since then, in places so far from home. They had been nomadic children, survivors of a bloody era.

Ned found a kindred spirit in his childhood friend and swore to her that they would always be good friends and allies into old age. If one of them needed help, the other was always going to come to their aid. And he made sure to also include Jon in his vows. They were brothers once when they had shared the same wet nurse. They could still share the bonds of brotherhood until the end of their days...

The long journey to the Northern capital had been fascinating, to say the least, especially as he learned about the trials and tribulations of the smallfolk.

Winterfell came as a surprise because it stuck out like a sore thumb with its grandeur while all around it, hunger, desolation, and agony prevailed in outlying villages. Its queen was just like its castle; Sansa looked very Southern in appearance while she was surrounded by the grim faces of Northerners, just like a Tully fish out of water. Ned felt a little disappointed in House Stark's reigning queen.

He couldn't help but wonder what the North would have been like if Jon had remained king, or Arya proclaimed as queen instead after the war. What if Bran remained the King of the Seven Kingdoms instead? Because, in truth, it made no sense for Bran to rule over the rest of Westeros when he wasn't even from any of the six remaining kingdoms.

It made no matter now, he supposed. They were here for a few select missions for the King of the Six Kingdoms, Bran Stark.

Their highest priority was to bring Jon to the Red Keep so that the council could reconvene to discuss his fate. His Grace, King Bran, aimed to pardon Jon and set him free from his exile once and for all. But a detour through Winterfell was inevitable since Arya wanted to accompany Jon to King's Landing. And Arya was unable to avoid Winterfell altogether because she was about to be proclaimed as Queen Sansa's heir.

Presently, Ned sat quietly at the table closest to the double doors of the hall with Lord Davos Seaworth, Grand Maester Samwell Tarly and his black brothers Grenn and Pyp, the free folk chieftain Tormund Giantsbane and his son Dryn, and Ser Podrick Payne who was currently entertaining a handful of giggling maids who flocked around him. His eyes were watchful, and his ears were on alert. Arya and Jon were going to arrive soon. Around his table, other highborn men looked far too eager as they waited with bated breath.

They whispered about Jon and what it would mean for the North once he was set free from his exile. Some were fearful that war might break out because of the matters of succession. It was only a matter of time before Jon rode back to Winterfell with a great army, set to retake it in conquest and blood as he once did when he defeated Ramsay Bolton. But instead of a fake Arya needing rescue from the Bolton bastard, this time, the real Arya would probably be by his side, fighting alongside him. Arya was closer to Jon, they whispered, more loyal to him than any of her other siblings. Without a doubt, she would choose Jon a thousand times over her sister Sansa.

Around him, other lords and knights spoke so casually about the Princess of Winterfell, as if she was just some docile lady and not the formidable warrior princess she truly was.

"The ones who knew Lady Lyanna say that Princess Arya looks exactly like her," one said in a hushed voice before chuckling to the other lords. "I would like to see her little winter rose."

"I was in this castle when we all thought that Ramsay had wed her," another added with an ugly smirk. "I heard the screams from the tower. I would love to make her scream like that."

"They say that Princess Arya has always been a willful child," one muttered worriedly. "I fear that she will make a willful wife."

"Makes no matter," the Frey boy said, shrugging carelessly. "My lord father always said that marriage would soften all women. A firm hand and a quiet word."

It took everything in Ned to not rise and draw _Dawn_  and use it against those beasts. He wanted to challenge them to a duel for daring to disrespect his friend, but because he was not from these lands, he knew it was more prudent to remain silent. He would convey the identities of the accursed men to Arya, and perhaps even Jon if he wasn't feeling merciful.

Others had kinder words to say, not forgetting that it was Arya who had helped Jon in defeating the Others during the War for the Dawn. But it seemed as if it made no matter to most men because when it came down to it, Arya was still just a woman and not a man. She had to fit in the confines of what society demanded of her.

Unlike Dorne, women in the rest of Westeros were not allowed to overshadow the men. Women were always going to be inferior unless they were the queen. And if Queen Sansa was going to be successful in marrying Arya off to a random lord, Ned would feel terrible for his beloved friend. Heartbreak would cause her spirit to wither away into nothingness if she were to become a lord's wife, nothing more than a currency for power, a means to forge alliance and stability for the region.

 _Duty, not love,_ Ned mused, hating the idea himself.

And so, here they were, waiting for her, old men and young men, lords and knights - all of them hoping to have a chance with Princess Arya. None of them cared for her genuinely. What they sought after was the power and prestige that came with the name of Stark. All they had to do was to sufficiently pay dowry to the Queen, and she would have the final word. He didn't doubt that Queen Sansa was willing to sell her little sister to the highest bidder. Ned couldn't help but feel worried about both his friends.

Arya would hate it, this injustice of a trap that had been laid out for her. She had been lured back to her childhood home because of a sense of duty to House Stark - only to be subjected to _this_.

And Jon - he would be furious beyond belief. Jon was nothing if not protective of his sister-cousin. He had already died and brought war upon his enemies, all in the name of Arya. And that dynamic had changed so drastically for them. She was more than his little sister now. She was secretly betrothed to him, a fact that had disturbed him at first when he heard about it in Castle Black but had learned to accept and even respect later on. If -  _when_  Jon found out about the Queen's plans, there was going to be hell to pay.

When it came to Arya Stark, there was nothing that Jon Snow would do for her.

Ned prayed to the gods that blood would not be spilt tonight.

***

**Queen Sansa**

She assessed her little sister with a critical eye, trying to ignore Jon's presence in Arya's chambers.

Sansa had entered the room just as an unknown handmaiden was braiding a few strands of hair at the side of Arya's face. Jon had been sitting at Arya's bed with the direwolves at his feet as he studied Arya with softness that he would only bestow for his favourite little sister.

She wondered why Jon was in Arya's chambers while she was getting ready for the feast, but didn't dwell too much on it. Arya was already dressed, after all, and her servant was only doing the final touches to her hair and face. Perhaps living together for a while with the free folk had forced them to forget personal boundaries. Sansa felt sorry for them that they had to live amongst savages.

"This is the final touch, Princess," Arya's handmaiden muttered, as she bit her tongue at the side of her mouth in concentration. After her handiwork was completed, she bowed low to them all and left the chambers.

A crown of blue winter roses had been placed on top of Arya's hair, causing Jon to sigh in fond emotion, and Sansa to look taken aback as Arya finally stood and faced them.

"You look beautiful, little wolf," Jon breathed, a small smile directed towards his favourite little sister.

Arya's whole face flushed as she looked gratefully at Jon. "Thank you."

Sansa tamped down the urge to roll her eyes. As usual, they were both still as disgustingly fond of each other as if they were still children. She cleared her throat. "Tonight is the night of many proclamations. Don't forget to be at your best behaviour, Arya. You are quite popular now. And you are at the springtime of your maidenhood so you will get a lot of attention. Lords will wish to speak with you. They want to get to know you better. Do you still remember how to dance?"

Arya looked at her with discernment as if she was trying to read her. It took a few heartbeats, but she finally nodded, looking weary. "I'll do my duty, Sansa. But before we go out there, we have a few questions to ask you."

Sansa frowned. "The lords and ladies of the North have waited long enough."

"And so have the smallfolk," Arya insisted stubbornly.

"What are you on about?" sniffed Sansa. "Did you pick up more strays since this afternoon?"

"I'm talking about the condition of the North and how the smallfolk are suffering," Arya complained in a voice heavy with disappointment. "As Jon and I travelled down from the Wall, we saw the hungry and the dying. The taxes you imposed on them have caused them to give up their rations. Old and young - men, and women, children - there were so many who could barely stand, or think straight. We came across children who were little more than bones and men and women who collapsed from exhaustion from working in the fields. All in the name of House Stark. All to pay taxes to you."

She felt defensive, and she seethed quietly as she stared at Arya in the pretty clothes that Sansa had personally designed for her. In the chambers she had paid to refurbish and beautify for Arya. And who had been assigned handmaidens she had been personally selected for her because they were the best ones - the ones who made Sansa feel the most beautiful and loved because of their adoring words towards her. It was as if Arya had just spat in her face with all these accusations.

When she turned to look towards Jon, she was surprised to see him glaring at her, his arms crossed at his chest. There was anger and hostility there, a venom that he almost seemed to be holding back.

"Did I invite you both to Winterfell so that you could scorn me?" she demanded, her voice rising despite her ingrained courtesy. This was personal, though. They were judging her as if she was incompetent as Queen. "Yes, I know that the North is in poverty! Do you think me a fool? I am doing all that I can. Why do you think I am about to declare you as my heir, Arya? To provide stability to the North!"

"How would you provide stability by inviting all of the Northern lords and ladies to this feast?" Jon spat. "Feeding all of them costs a lot of silver. You flex your status with lavish feasts while the North grows hungry and discontent. Are you still that bad at numbers?"

"How dare you!" Sansa snapped. "I am the Queen! You should not disrespect me in my own castle! The castle you lost to your Dragon Queen because you were thinking with your lust-addled mind!"

Jon stood, his eyes flashing in anger as he drew closer to her, only to stop a few paces away. Sansa was almost surprised at how tall he was, and how intimidating. But she stood her ground, her crowned head held high. He had no power here any longer. Sansa was the Queen!

"You do not speak about that woman in my presence," Jon warned as his eyes drifted to Arya briefly before looking back at her again.

"Are you still in love with the Dragon Queen?" she couldn't help but ask in a mocking voice. "You both thought you were going to be the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, didn't you?"

"Sansa, I swear to the Old Gods that if you don't stop speaking about that woman..." Jon trailed off, warning in his voice. His hands closed into fists at his sides, and rage burned in his eyes.

She glared back at him in anger but wisely bit back her retort. There was pure malice in the way he looked at her, a fire consuming him from within.

Over three years ago, she had heard the report that Jon had killed the Dragon Queen after the war had been won in the Targaryen's favour, but even today, it was difficult to grasp the concept. After all, Jon seemed to have loved the Dragon Queen enough to offer the North to her on a silver platter. Was it honour that drove him to commit the act of kinslaying? Because of the rain of fire and blood that destroyed the capital? Or was it something else?

Arya cleared her throat, surprising Sansa into distraction. Turning to her and seeing her standing there in her cream silk and lace dress that showed off her slim body, the tight bodice showing off the top of her small pale breasts and gentle feminine curves, Sansa was reminded of a little flower in bloom, waiting to be plucked. The thought brought a small smile to Sansa's lips. Like her poor lady mother, she thought that this day would never come - that Arya would mature into becoming a proper lady, and become pretty enough to attract lords from all over Westeros...

"Father always said that Summer was the time for squabbles," Arya counselled the both of them, breaking Sansa out of her thoughts. "Winter had come and gone when we had to protect one another, keep each other warm, and share our strengths. If we must hate still, even today, we should hate those who would truly do us harm. Spring has arrived, and we are now all on equal footing, all four of us, including Bran. Despite his age and mine, we have long been men and women grown. We should act like it now."

"How did you grow so wise?" Jon conceded after a heartbeat, softening only for her. Sansa frowned at them both even though she knew that Arya's words rang true.

"These are Father's words," Arya stated, her eyes just as soft as she looked back at Jon. "Not mine."

"And what else did Father say?" Sansa asked.

Arya looked at them both as she said, "The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives."

Sansa couldn't help but nod and concede at that moment, heartened at the words of her lord father. She had never heard those words before, but it was as if he was here now, speaking to them all with wisdom and warmth.

She thought of Father and Mother, Robb and Rickon, and Bran who now ruled over the rest of Westeros. There were only four of them now, the last of the Starks. It was important to appear as united as possible so that they could exude their strength and power against all detractors and enemies, including the Northern bannermen.

"Let us stop the squabbles for tonight then," Sansa suggested, smiling courteously at them. "I will ensure that tomorrow, before the mid-day meal, I will hold a council meeting with the lords and ladies of the North. We will discuss the trials that my people are experiencing and how to solve the issues arising from those trials. I will ensure that my bannermen will work with me in creating a stronger future for the North."

"We shall see if your oath holds true," Jon muttered, with a trace of bitterness in his voice that he couldn't hold back. "Let us hope that this time around, your vow will be as unshakable as your lord father's. Until that time, I have not forgotten what you've done, Lady Lannister. _Words are wind._ "

Sansa's eyes grew wide in shock at his insinuation, offended that he would call her a  _Lannister_  and wondering if she should worry about him. Were his words merely that of a bitter and angry man's, or was he planning to usurp her? To depose her and take away her birthright? Did he want to become the King in the North once again? Even if he had no claim as a Targaryen? He was not even a Stark for true!

The fear in her tasted desperate and cruel, and for the first time, she felt uncertain of her position as queen. She needed to contain this hidden threat as quickly as she could. But how? Perhaps Lady Barbrey Dustin could give her wise counsel. They have always been fond of one another.

Her mind schemed immediately, in the way that Petyr had taught her long ago. And with pride, she recalled lessons she had learned from  _playing the game_ \- from Queen Cersei and Lord Petyr Baelish, the mentors that imparted their lessons to her and led her on the path to becoming the Queen in the North.

***

**Barbrey Dustin**

"Then Princess beat Night King?" a young, sleepy little boy's voice asked from his bed, in the royal nursery where the Stark children had grown up as babes.

Barbrey watched the shadows playing on her nephew Willam's face as his face puckered in contempt. He was quick to control himself, however, as he forced himself to smile at his bastard son.

Every child in the North loved nothing more than to listen to bedtime tales about a lion imp who had been the mastermind behind the scenes, a bastard king and dragon queen on dragonback, a future king and magician who tricked the enemy’s generals by becoming the bait, and the young princess who struck her knife against humanity’s greatest enemy. Together, the  _key five_ came together from different angles, ended the Long Night, and brought the dawn.

It was Gawen Snow's favourite tale too, which annoyed his lord father to no end.

"Yes, my sweetling," Willam conceded in a near-whisper as he kissed his child upon the brow as the boy's eyes fell shut in submission to slumber. "My little princeling."

When Willam straightened, he went to the table and sat down across from her. He looked aggrieved, as he tipped his head back over the back of the chair and closed his eyes as if the whole world had suddenly been placed on his shoulders.

"Don't slouch," Barbrey corrected, lips pursing in disapproval. "It's bad for your posture. A king must have control."

He groaned, covering his eyes with his hands in frustration. "This king is not yet a king, Aunt Barbrey."

Barbrey gave him a moment to collect himself. She studied him with a keen eye.

Lord Willam Dustin was the heir to Barrowton, the one who will inherit once she's dead. He was the only trueborn nephew she had from House Dustin, the son of Lady Robyn Dustin who was the only sibling of her late husband, Willam the Elder. His lady mother Robyn had died in childbirth, and his lord father had been a knight of House Ryswell, Ser Alyn, who had been killed during the War of the Five Kings.

Young Willam had been raised by his lady grandmother from the Ryswell family for a few years before Barbrey summoned the boy at age thirteen, proclaiming the orphan as the heir of Barrowton.

It seemed fitting that Young Willam was to inherit, seeing as he was the only trueborn son left to House Dustin. It was even more bittersweet that Young Willam shared the name of Barbrey's own lord husband who had died in Robert's Rebellion. And every time she saw the young man, he looked more and more like his lord uncle Willam, the Elder.

And so Willam Ryswell was renamed as Willam Dustin, heir to Barrowton. And now, he was the lord consort of the Queen, a feat that Barbrey could have had one day in the past. Barbrey had once dreamt of a future with Brandon Stark, a passionate lover from her youth. The boy she would never, ever forget.

 _The North remembers,_ she thought as she sipped delicately on her wine.  _But I remember too. I never forget the sins of the past. Not in Lord Rodrick taking Brandon away from me when we had loved each other so fiercely, not in Eddard who was supposed to wed me in Brandon's stead and was instead married off to Lady Catelyn Tully. Additionally, Eddard Stark presented me with Willam's horse and not his bones after the war, which was a great insult considering the fact that Ned had brought home his own sister Lyanna's._

Lady Barbrey was a woman who knew how to nurse a grievance. She had never forgotten, and it had made her bitter over the years.

A knock on the door and a soft word from a servant prompted them to rise at the same time. When she heard the receding footsteps of the servant, she turned to her nephew with narrowed eyes, "Willam, I know you are scheming something, but heed caution. The North favours our visitors. Remember that they will be on their way soon."

"I know that," he conceded. His arms were crossed defensively. "I'm just so angry that the little bitch is back. Now she means to take the place of my little princeling. I've worked too hard and too long."

"Dear boy, you should know that despite Gawen being a sweet boy, he could never inherit as a bastard," she sniffed. She looked towards the little boy in the bed who was covered in furs, sleeping peacefully as they spoke about him. "You should have done better in conceiving a trueborn child. It doesn't even matter if it's a girl at this point. A trueborn Stark is the only thing that will stabilise the kingdom."

He huffed in annoyance. "Believe me, I tried. Sansa is a lovely woman, and in some ways, we love each other. But she is as barren as a desert, Aunt Barbrey. I have a bastard to prove that my seed is strong. The fault is not mine in this matter. If Arya wasn't here, I would've convinced Sansa to accept Gawen as her own child. Gawen Stark."

"Your time has run out, my nephew," she pointed out. "The North loves Arya. They once rose in arms for her. Do you remember when Ramsey Bolton was the Lord of Winterfell? Arya had been his bride. I took care of the bride before she was wed off to the Bolton bastard. Except Arya was not Arya for true but merely a steward's daughter. And yet, her name was enough to rouse men's hearts. The mountain clans suffered through snowstorms to fight for her. The King-beyond-the-Wall Mance Rayder rode south to rescue her. King Stannis, or so he called himself, braved the harsh winter with his men to do the same. Lords in this castle who played at being Bolton allies bided their time as they listened to little Arya's anguish as she was tormented night and day by the bastard. What do you think passed through their heads when they heard the new bride weeping? Valiant Ned's precious little girl. Lady Arya's sobs did us more harm than all of Lord Stannis's swords and spears. The North has not forgotten, dear Willam."

There was desperation in Willam's face as his eyes became wet.

"Does the truth hurt?" she asked him plainly. "It should. You and I are much the same, my nephew. Why do we love the Starks?"

"I want to be one of them," he confessed in a whisper.

"And never could. Your queen has not even bestowed you with her House's name," she said, feeling an old nostalgia as she remembered another young man from long ago, an ironlord who had once been the heir of Pyke.  _Theon Greyjoy._ He had said the same words to her, words that rang true in her own heart.  _I want to be one of them._

When Willam had composed his face enough so that he once again looked like the young, handsome, and playful heir of Barrowton, Barbrey's heart tightened in her chest. Willam never failed to make her recall her lord husband, who shared the same name: so gallant, beautiful, and noble. And dead before his time.

They left the nursery together and made their way to the Great Hall, she in her luxurious black velvet dress and Northern braids and widow's knot, and he in his handsome kingly clothing. Around the corner, they met the Stark siblings: Sansa, Arya, and Jon. The three of them looked regal in their silks and velvet and lace, two gigantic direwolves hovering close to Jon and Arya.

Barbrey was taken aback as she stared at the two who had inherited the Stark features the most, Jon and Arya. It was as if Barbrey was sixteen again and she was facing Eddard and Lyanna, in the halls of the Winter Kings.

It was Queen Sansa who snapped her out of her memories as she smiled courteously at both her and her lord husband. "Are you ready?"

Willam grinned broadly at her, ever the perfect lord husband, handsome and lovely as if he was not weeping for his insecurities only moments before. He went to his queen and offered his arm gallantly, and together they went out into the Great Hall as the large double doors were opened for them by the guards. Respectful bows greeted them.

And when it was time for Jon and Arya to follow, Barbrey almost smiled at the pair they made, as if her old childhood was playing right in front of her eyes. She watched them with interest as Jon leaned down and kissed her brow, in an almost intimate way, his lips lingering on her skin. She felt an odd queerness at seeing it and almost brushed it aside as the act of siblings who were each other's favourites.

But then Arya leaned up and closed her eyes in surrender as she too kissed him. It was only on the cheek, but like Jon, her lips lingered a heartbeat too long.

Barbrey was reminded of the youthful passion she'd shared with Brandon Stark when she had been young - when Brandon had been fostered in Barrowton and often rode the Rills so that he could visit her in secret. She thought those days would never end. Brandon took her maidenhead, and Barbrey had loved him for it. She foolishly thought their story would be like that of the songs...

As Jon and Arya went out to the adoring crowd of Northern lords and ladies, Barbrey had a sudden, horrible thought.

And then she smiled to herself, the wrinkles on the sides of her eyes crinkling.

It was time to scheme.

***

**Howland Reed**

The Northern capital of Winterfell came alive as the feast began. Howland made sure to sit at the front row so that he could lay eyes on the former King in the North, Aegon Targaryen -- nay, _Jon Snow_.

Hours ago, he had unfortunately only glimpsed the man from a distance, awed at the Northern-looking figure who appeared strong, formidable, and above it all, royal, despite being exiled for years.

Jon had been wearing the colours of House Targaryen, his armour and cloak in the shades of red and black. He led what appeared like a small army that numbered two hundred, plus a pack of direwolves and wolves that were also in the hundreds.

Jon looked very much like a king from ancient songs. Howland was reminded of both Eddard Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. Next to Jon had been a small child-woman who, from a distance, looked as Northern as him, but Howland could barely see both their faces.

When Jon had dismounted and was talking to the Queen, Howland could, unfortunately, not see or hear him because of his small stature. Lords in front of him blocked his view. It was painful to be unable to catch a glimpse of the man's appearance after a lifetime of waiting for that moment. Perhaps tonight, he would finally meet the young man.

It had been over twenty years since he's last since Lady Lyanna's son.

Dressed in a scratchy grey-green velvet doublet with his House arms consisting of a lizard lion, and new lambswool breeches that his daughter Meera insisted he wear, Howland studied the hall quietly. He listened to all the conversations he could follow while feeling horribly underdressed in front of all these Northern lords and ladies who were laughing and drinking and japing with each other.

Music made the Great Hall come alive with lutes, harps, and drums. Great fires at hearths and countless candles lit up the entire room. Men and women in their finery and jewels danced together in quick steps for the rousing songs or moved together in well-mannered sensuality in romantic songs. After each song ended, there was applause, smiles, and laughter - the world outside the feast hall forgotten. It made him think of the Tourney of Harrenhal and the lies of the South.

Beneath the beauty and courtesies that were presented by Queen Sansa’s court, the North had become rotten to the core, just like King's Landing.

Worriedly, he looked over to where his daughter and heir Meera was standing, dressed in their House colours of grey-green. Her gown was of heavy green velvet, and she wore a grey cloak with fur on the collar. The handmaidens assigned to her had braided her hair and applied powder and other beauty products on her face. Meera looked as beautiful as her mother. 

And yet, she seemed mildly aggrieved as she was forced to entertain a few of the young men who were eagerly waiting for the royal party to arrive. 

Soon, she grew tired of the knights and lords and went to speak with Lady Alys Karstark instead. They sat together and soon were in deep conversation with each other, both of them laughing. Two of Lady Mormont's daughters came to join them, too, as well as a granddaughter of Lord Manderly.

Howland felt relieved that Meera was making friends and allies. It was good for the young women to bond together, all of them who will one day raise the future Lords of the North.

And yet, Howland couldn't help but worry over his daughter once again as he noted the unmarried lords who awaited Princess Arya. At the age of twenty and one, Meera needed to settle down with a lord husband. But his daughter was stubborn, unwilling to commit her life to any lord. Howland thought to marry her off at one time, deciding for her finicky daughter's future. But she wanted to marry on her own terms, and Howland couldn't help but agree in his heart of hearts.

Lady Lyanna's tragedy had been rooted in a betrothal to a womanising Baratheon lord - it was a forced betrothal that she had hated with a burning passion. She had confessed it to him when they had become friends. This led her to Prince Rhaeger, and in turn, to an early grave. 

That will not be the fate of his daughter. Howland hoped that Meera would find a suitable lord in Winterfell during the Spring Feast, someone who would love and cherish her the way that she deserved.

All of a sudden, the music died as the double doors of the hall opened. The men and women in the room stood and bowed as the Queen and her lord husband sauntered in arm-in-arm.

Howland bowed slightly but kept his eyes on them, watching and observing. Lord Willam of House Dustin certainly looked the part as a worthy consort to the Queen. He was handsome, and his graces were perfect. But Howland heard nothing about his achievements. There were no feats associated with his name in any of the wars that the North had suffered through. As the royal consort, people were tight-lipped around him, some eager to please, and others more ambivalent. Howland did not often take in the measure of a man at first glance, but there was something about the young man that he did not like.

As for Queen Sansa, Howland couldn't help but feel disappointed and even alarmed. He could find no glaring trace of Eddard Stark in her for she looked very Southern like her lady mother. She looked like a beautiful queen from the songs, yes. But from what he'd heard from hushed whispers of Northern lords and ladies, Sansa did not inspire a lot of confidence. After all, she may be good at courtesies, but she honestly did not know her people.

Unlike her lord father who had been very connected to all his people, Sansa instead kept to her castle. She did not ride out to far-off towns and villages of the North and look into the eyes of the smallfolk, or the lords and ladies appointed over them. Worse, still, she did not seem to realise how her demand for taxes was ravaging an already broken kingdom who had suffered endlessly through war and winter. All in the name of rebuilding Winterfell as quickly as possible.

The Queen made Howland think of Lady Catelyn. Beautiful Lady Catelyn, with her pretty face and warm auburn hair, had cold blue eyes when Howland had seen her for the first time at the end of a long journey from Dorne to Winterfell. Lady Catelyn’s cold and hateful eyes had been directed at the swaddled babe nestled securely in Lord Eddard's arms... the young man that now emerged from the double doors of the hall.

What a sight he was, the Prince of Dragonstone and the true King of the Seven Kingdoms. _The King in the North._

Jon was flanked by two giant direwolves, one white with blood-red eyes and the other grey with golden eyes. He was tall, and although his build was slim like the typical Stark man, he was made of muscle and sinew, his body built for war. His brown hair fell to his shoulders, and his beard was a light shadow on his jaw. He had a long solemn face that was scarred across his piercing grey eyes, and he looked a little like Lord Eddard Stark. Dressed in the Targaryen colours of black and red and with no House arms on his doublet, there was a quiet intensity in his eyes.

Although he was born as the Prince of Dragonstone, he appeared more like the true King in the North. And on his belt hung the now legendary Valyrian steel sword called Longclaw as well as a curious ornate dagger that oddly looked similar to what Prince Rhaegar used to carry on his belt a lifetime ago.

Around Jon, there was a sudden clamouring as lords and ladies grew excited to see him once again. He was the man they fought shoulder-to-shoulder with against all the enemies of the North, through all the bloody winter wars. He was the man they had once crowned as their King.

And Howland agreed with every person who still regarded Jon as the king. He vowed to ensure that Jon was going to be king again before he left Winterfell.

There was a small tittering as the young men near the front of the chambers jostled for position. Their eyes were only on the child-woman who was at Jon's arm - the heir and Princess of Winterfell.

Howland's breath caught in his throat as he finally took in the appearance of Arya Stark.

The young princess looked nothing like her sister, who inherited their lady mother's Tully features. Like Jon, she had inherited the Stark traits of having a long face, brown hair, and grey eyes. But Arya looked beautiful - her long hair styled in a Northern braid while most of it hung loose, falling to the middle of her back. She wore a cream Northern-style dress that clung on to her slender and delicate-looking figure. Her arms were bare, but she was covered by a white ermine cloak clasped at her throat with a direwolf pin. A curious bravos sword and a dagger that matched Jon’s was hung on a slim grey belt at her waist. She was slight and very slim, but there was a strength in the way she held herself. Above her hair, she was crowned in blue winter roses. And her face --

Howland stepped backwards as his heart stopped.

 _Lady Lyanna,_ he thought as he clutched on to his heart in horror and anguish. It was as if he had been transported back in time. He felt sixteen years old again, not the old and tired man he had become. The young princess looked exactly like Lyanna when Howland first met her at the Tourney of Harrenhal.  _The brave girl who saved me from the squires._

Lady Lyanna, who had been fierce and willful and beautiful, and who had tragically died in a room that smelled of blood and roses. And here she was in the flesh, haunting the halls of Winterfell. And his heart was broken once more.

Howland had loved her once. He loved her still.

It took everything in him to tear his eyes away from the beautiful but haunting face of the Stark princess.

He found himself watching Jon again --

Howland was taken aback in a moment of panic as he noticed the way that Jon was looking at Arya.

Prince Rhaegar had looked at Lyanna that way once too, upon discovering that she was indeed the fierce and mysterious Knight of the Laughing Tree who had upstaged other knights. The discovery occurred the night after Lyanna had restored Howland's honour through combat at the tourney. Howland had been there with Lyanna beneath the red leaves of a weirwood tree as Prince Rhaegar fell in love with her. And he would one day regret that he had said nothing to her brothers. Until it was too late.

Howland remembered the moment when all the smiles died, when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen urged his horse past his own wife, the Dornish princess Elia Martell, to lay the queen of beauty’s laurel in Lyanna’s lap. He could see it still: a crown of winter roses, blue as frost.

The way Jon Targaryen touched the Northern princess almost intimately and gazed at her meaningfully made him think of his prince father. Jon may look and act like Eddard Stark, but Prince Rhaegar's blood ran true inside his veins. Both had a weakness for the wild Northern beauties of Winterfell. Arya even _looked_ like Lyanna.

Gods be good! Could this be true? That Rhaegar's son had eyes for this Stark girl with Lyanna's face?

Was history about to repeat itself once more?

Beneath the table, his trembling hands clutched on tightly to the leather pack at his belt. _The North's greatest treasure, more valuable than gold even in this desolation._

It contained two sealed documents that had information that could turn the tide in the entire North: that of Jon's trueborn birthright as the last Targaryen Prince, and the will that proclaimed him as King Robb's heir.

His breath hitched as Jon and Arya walked through the path between the long tables, passing in front of him. They were a beautiful and nostalgic pair of ghosts, flanked by their beasts. He could smell the fearsome wolves, could see their red and gold eyes looking intensely at him as if they could see inside his soul. It made him think of the Old Gods.

As Jon was right in front of him, their eyes connected briefly, making his heart stop for a moment...

Grey Stark eyes that were full of wisdom, grief, and anger. Grey eyes that belonged to a king.  _Lyanna's eyes._

 _Jon Targaryen will soon be king once more,_ he vowed on the memory of the girl he once loved. A girl he loved still.  _I swear this to you, Lyanna. And I'm sorry I cannot take this secret to my own grave, Ned. The boy deserves the world, and I will give it to him on a silver platter._

_He is the last dragon._

_He is the King in the North._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep safe everyone! Hope this will help you escape the problems of the outside world. Take care of yourselves!
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter. Please let me know what you think. Thank you for all the kind support!


	19. The Spring Feast

**Jon Snow**

Nostalgia hit him like the ice-cold spray of sea waves from the Northern banks facing the Bay of Ice. As he entered the Great Hall with Arya at his arm, he carefully watched the men and women who bowed to him. Most of them looked familiar, lords and ladies who had once proclaimed him as their king despite his baseborn origins. Once, long ago, he had been their bastard king.

Jon wondered if they had been angry for his sake when the Southron lords decided to exile him after the Battle of King's Landing. Or were they still loyal and true? Could he still trust them?

His sharp eyes also found malicious men's eyes creeping to the girl who was next to him, the Stark princess who was betrothed to him. His jaw clenched in response as he felt unbidden anger. They were shameless as they openly ogled Arya's feminine form, and it made him wonder what made them dare to do so.

When Jon had been the king, no lord had dared to cross that line. As they vainly tried to offer betrothals for his little sister three years ago, Jon had been quick to shut them down with a firm _no_. They knew that she was off-limits so long as he was king…

Even back then, as advisors tried to convince him that his little sister was a great tool to be used to forge political alliances, Jon could not find it in himself to listen to them. No man could ever fill the role that he had as her protector. No man could ever love her as much as he did. _Not a single man had been good enough or will ever be good enough._

Those reasons, he could admit it to himself now, had been far from innocent.

Years ago, long before Jon received the pink letter that made him imagine Arya in a wedding dress and then lying on her back on Ramsay's bed, his heart had bled dark for her, and his dreams even darker.

 _Dark dreams,_ he remembered. _And guilt._

Worse still, those dark dreams had become reality as he took his little sister to bed as soon as she returned to him from across the Sunset Sea, in the secret village north of the Wall where he had been living in exile. Even now, Jon could not find it in himself to regret anything, not when Arya was _his_ completely - body, heart, and soul.

Amongst the crowd, as he walked between the bowed heads of his former vassals, he found the Mormonts, the Karstarks and Thenns, the Glovers, Umbers, Manderlys, and so many others.

There was one man in particular who was keenly observing him and Arya, with wide dark eyes and a thin pale face as if he had just seen a ghost. The man was possibly of an age with Eddard Stark, if his uncle had still been alive today. The lord was small and quite plain. He almost looked forgettable as he stood there in his ill-fitting grey-green finery that he didn't seem to be comfortable wearing. But there was something on his face and bearing that made him seem important, and for a moment as their eyes were locked, Jon almost felt as if they had met each other before.

But the moment broke as he passed by the mysterious man and soon, he and Arya were ushered towards the raised dais by eagerly smiling servants who knew them from when they were still children.

At the high table, Sansa sat in the middle with a proud smile while next to her on her left was her family from House Dustin: Lord Willam, and next to him, Lady Barbrey. On her right side was Arya, and then Jon.

Winterfell’s new Septon rose to lead the prayer, giving thanks to Father, Warrior, Smith, Mother, Crone, Stranger, and Maiden. Except for the few who also worshipped the Seven like the Manderlys, the other Northerners were silently looking at each other with meaning.

“Let the cups be filled!” Sansa proclaimed when the New Gods had been given their due. Her cupbearer poured a flagon of Arbor red into a golden goblet. She picked it up and raised it high so that the entire hall could see.

Every lord and lady picked up their goblets, cups, and horns and followed her lead.

"To my siblings, the former King Jon and the Princess Arya, this night is to celebrate their return home to Winterfell!"

There were cheers, applause, and the clinking of over a hundred cups and horns and goblets as they toasted to Jon and Arya's return.

"Hear hear!" they said, while others boldly proclaimed, "King Jon! The King in the North!" or "Princess Arya!"

Sansa's lips curled in a moment of annoyance before she falsely smiled in practised courtesy. She clapped her hands with a flourish, in a manner that seemed as if it had been well-rehearsed. "Let the Spring Feast begin!"

And in response, servants sauntered into the hall wearing matching grey tunics and dresses, with direwolf crests stitched over their hearts. They moved in unison from the double doors, balancing trays laden with piping hot dishes that smelled divine.

The first dish was a creamy soup of wild mushrooms and buttered chicken served in gilded bowls. Jon hadn’t had a bite to eat since mid-day seven hours prior, so he was quite famished. The food was welcome despite the lingering guilt from what he'd seen from devastated villages days ago. He finished the soup quickly as he kept his senses alert, eyes scanning the crowd as they ate to their heart’s content.

The procession of food was ridiculous, with more than thirty-five dishes. There were: roasted chicken, potatoes, carrots, parsnips, onions, and green beans. There was gravy and also cranberry sauce. There was a gigantic roasted boar that was on a spit, its mouth stuffed with an apple. There were roasted suckling pigs too. There was fresh bread, butter, and different kinds of cheese. There were little quails and duck, with crispy and golden skin. There was lamb stew, as well as pigeon and venison pies. The alcohol flowed as if it came from a waterfall - ale, cider, wine, and mead.

It was unbelievable to see the abundance and variety of food after the harrowing state of the hungry villagers far away from Winterfell. As he watched the fat lords feasting on the bounty, the guilt inside him intensified as a servant kept filling his plate with a little of everything.

_These lords and ladies grow fat as lowborn men, women, and children are at their deathbed, nothing more than bones because of poverty and hunger._

"Is the food not to your liking, Your Grace?" an older servant asked gently, directing the question to Arya. Her voice was full of concern as she poured some steaming hot wine for Arya. "Some warm spiced wine could help energise you. I know it has been a long journey for you."

Jon's eyes narrowed as he studied the old woman. She looked familiar, but he couldn't remember her name at this time.

"Thank you, Bethany," Arya replied gratefully, her voice sounding a little shaky.

Concerned, Jon looked her over. She was a little pale as if just the sight of food sickened her. Knowing that the memory of the North's desolation also plagued her with the same guilt, Jon couldn't blame her.

"You must still eat, little wolf," Jon commented as he leaned towards her, whispering in her ear because the hall was too loud with song, chatter, and laughter. "Indeed, it had been a long journey. We both need our strength."

"I know," she acknowledged with a nod. She wrinkled her nose and looked almost in pain. "I feel a little nauseous, though."

"Just go slowly then," he advised. And in a tired voice, he added, "I too feel as if it's almost a sin to just be present at this feast. Guilt is eating away deep inside me."

"I feel the same, but..." Arya hesitated before sighing as if she was in repressed physical pain. “Yes, Jon," Arya agreed finally after a heartbeat. "I’ll try."

Again, Jon forced himself to eat from his plate: the sliced pork with apple sauce, roasted onions and potatoes. He sipped on cider slowly as he turned his attention to the crowd once more, carefully watching the Northern bannermen from the dais. The food and drink sated the hunger and thirst from the long journey, although, in his heart of hearts, it was truly difficult to enjoy.

Beside him, Arya barely touched her food, picking at it while she chewed on her lower lip. He almost wanted to feed her by hand, but had to remind himself that they were in public with many eyes watching their every move.

A bard was singing _A Rose of Gold_  as the people in the hall feasted. A few were already very drunk, while a gaggle who sat near Ned Dayne continued to eye Arya as if she was prey. Others had their heads together, possibly whispering secrets and schemes. It almost felt like a different court than what he was used to when he was king.

In the old days, lords and ladies stood proud and said what they wanted to say to one another. Games and dirty politics belonged to the South. But all that had changed after only three years.

When the song ended, Sansa put a hand up. The music and the chatter stopped immediately as the entire hall turned their attention to the dais.

"My dear lords and ladies of the North, as well as our visitors from the South, and from the North of the Wall," Sansa announced in a loud voice full of practised courtesy. "Again, I welcome you all to Winterfell! As the evening grows, you are all welcome to the high table one small group at a time to speak to Princess Arya and the former king, Jon Snow. The formal dancing will commence after all the courtesies have been exchanged. Please enjoy the bountiful feast!"

There was respectful applause amidst the murmurs of the crowd. As quick as a snake about to strike, lords and ladies approached the table, forming a queue. The musicians commenced again: the bard with his voice, drummers and pipers and fiddlers, strings and horns and skins.

Jon and Arya did their best to keep up with the formal niceties. Jon spoke to lords and ladies about their holdfasts and their grain, while Arya focused on the smaller details, such as their children, their health, and the state of their smallfolk. Together, they were able to perform the necessary courtesies, making Sansa nod at them in approval.

Despite the peace between them, Jon was a little annoyed at the reigning queen, feeling as if he and Arya had been made into a spectacle, a distraction or a means to boost her popularity in politics. He tried his best to ignore it, however, as he spoke to his former vassals.

The Flints were, as usual, friendly but Jon was not pleased to find out that Lord Donnel Flint, who had travelled with them down the Kingsroad, seemed to be interested in making a match between himself and Arya.

The same was true with other minor lords: Lords Robard Cerwyn, Olyvar Wull, and even Morgan Liddle. Jon glowered at them, but they tried to avoid his eyes, only paying attention to Arya, and especially Sansa who they kept complimenting as if to win her favour.

The Glover brothers came next – Lord Galbart and his heir Lord Robett.

"Your Grace," Lord Galbart said, bowing deeply to Jon. "House Glover welcomes your return from your unjust exile. There was not a day when the North missed you so much. We hope that after you have finished settling matters in King's Landing, you will return to Winterfell."

Jon noticed Sansa's look of indignation but ignored it. He nodded to Lord Galbart diplomatically. "Time will tell what fate awaits me, my lord. But I will say that I have missed the North as well."

"Princess Arya, do you remember me?" Lord Robett asked as his eyes were solely on the Princess of Winterfell. "I didn't know it at the time, but I learned the truth years later. You freed a hundred Northmen from the dark cells of Harrenhal when you were just a little girl and a mere slave who didn’t even have the protection of your noble name. I was among those prisoners, and I will never forget what you've done for us. I owe you my life, Princess Arya. If you ever need anything, I am yours to command. I swear my allegiance to you until my dying day."

Arya's face had gone red as she did not expect Lord Robett's words. She sounded hesitant as she spoke to him, "I was only ten years old when I was in Harrenhal. I remember freeing the Northern prisoners with the help of criminals I had travelled with from the Night's Watch. I'm sorry if I don't remember your face, my lord."

Lord Robett only beamed at her in a fatherly way. "It makes no matter, Your Grace. I only wanted to thank you personally for what you've done."

Arya inclined her head politely and smiled back at him. "I shall try not to forget you this time, my lord."

He only laughed. "Thank you, Your Grace."

Lord Umber approached them next with his loud, boisterous laughter although his words were laced with honeyed venom when he spoke to Sansa at length about the conditions of the smallfolk in his lands.

"As always, you look as lovely as your lady mother," Lord Umber said after their long talk in which he slipped in a few thinly-veiled barbs at Sansa’s tax policies and its effects on the entire kingdom. "I look forward to the council meeting that will discuss what truly matters to the North. I’m afraid my list of grievances may take all day."

"I look forward to working with you on the morrow as well, Lord Umber," Sansa replied diplomatically although her eyes flashed in a moment of anger.

Behind the Lord of the Last Hearth, Lord Wyman Manderly came forward, surrounded by his granddaughters and a nephew that Jon had once seen representing House Manderly during the winter wars at Winterfell.

"House Manderly welcomes you both back home to the North where you belong, Your Grace. This is my nephew, Ser Gwayne," Lord Manderly introduced the young man who stood next to him to both Jon and Arya. His eyes twinkled in delight as he grinned at Arya in particular. "He is only twenty and has fought for Winterfell before, Princess Arya. He remembers you from the war, but you may not remember him."

Ser Gwayne was tall and gallant, with long brown hair tied in a top knot and eyes as green as his dark velvet doublet and cloak. He was very handsome with high cheekbones and an open, friendly face. He approached Arya with a meaningful smile, gently picking up her hand and kissing it with a quick brush of his lips. "You have blossomed into a beautiful young maiden, princess. I first met you when you were a small child in the arms of your lord father. You were perhaps three or four, and I was only seven. You and Lord Eddard spent a week in my lord uncle's castle. I was your escort and playmate as my cousins Wynafryd and Wylla showed you around White Harbour. You probably don't remember."

"I could scarcely recall," Arya hesitated although she tried to be equally friendly to the knight from White Harbour. "The memory is foggy although I do remember sitting with Manderly children at the docks, watching the ships sailing in and out. I recall the taste of sweetmeats and dried sugared fruit from the Summer Isles."

Ser Gwayne grinned boyishly at Arya. "I've brought you some today as well," he said. He reached inside the leather pack at his belt, pulled out a cloth bag, then handed it to her. "Dried tropical fruit to help you recall. And mayhaps you'll recall that I fought by your side during the war? While King Jon was flying on dragon-back in the skies with the Dragon Queen, you were the Stark leader we turned to on the ground. You stood bravely with an army of direwolves and wolves. You kept your head and inspired us to remain steadfast in defence of our friends, family, and people."

Arya nodded to him with gratitude, looking bashful at his compliments. "I thank you, Ser Gwayne. Your services to the North shall not be forgotten as well."

As he moved to the side, the sisters Lady Wynafryd and Lady Wylla came forward.

"I'm unsure if I've introduced them before, but these are my beautiful granddaughters, Wynafryd and Wylla. Both unmarried still," Lord Wyman Manderly chuckled, looking at Jon with meaning. "If you were still king, I would surely make a match with you, Your Grace. But I have allowed them to mingle with the lords who have gathered tonight, hoping that they could find a balance between love and politics. As I'm sure all maidens are wont to do tonight..." he trailed off, eyes twinkling in mirth as he looked at Arya.

Together, the lady sisters bowed. Both looked to be of an age with Jon. They seemed politely interested in him, but their eyes were distracted as they scanned the room with intent. Lady Wynafryd seemed to be taken in with a dashing lord from the Vale while Lady Wylla kept getting distracted by Lord Edric Dayne, who was a few years younger than her. From what Jon remembered of them, both women were cunning and smart, just like their lord grandfather.

"I have met you both before," Jon stated, recalling the pair of women from his journey through White Harbour during his preparation for the war. "I hope you've been well."

Lady Wynafryd nodded. "We have, thank you for asking, Your Grace," she answered for the two of them. "We hope you have fared well in exile. I know that I was not alone in praying for your well-being. The North owes you a debt that could never be repaid because you lead us all in defence of the realm, not just in the War against the Others but also in the many wars you fought for us all."

Lady Wylla's eyes were cast down in deference. "For both of you," she added. "Your absence was severely felt by the realm. We hope that the North will be your permanent home now."

Arya's eyes softened at the honesty in the lady sisters' words. "Thank you. This is something we will consider."

They both curtsied before backing away into the crowd, replaced by other lords and ladies.

From then on, it was a never-ending procession of familiar and not-so-familiar Northern faces: Lady Maege Mormont and her brave warrior daughters, Lady Alys Karstark and her free folk husband Lord Sigorn Thenn, the Hornwoods, Blackwoods, Ironwoods, Ryswells, and Tallharts.

And then came the young high lord of the Vale, Robert Arryn, accompanied by his pretty lady wife Marsella of House Waynwood and Ser Harrold Hardyng – both his cousins on his lord father’s side.

Jon had only heard of the young Lord Robert in passing – of his sickly childhood and the expectation by his bannermen that he was going to die young. But the early loss of his lady mother and the forced education that he had received from bannermen who were loyal to his lord father helped him grow with a fast-paced maturity after a lifetime of being coddled and spoiled. And their guidance made him into a high lord worthy of their loyalty.

Today, at the age of only fourteen, he was already quite tall and surprisingly formidable even if he was still thin, his face with a pink flush and his eyes bright with life. Dressed in his house colours of sky blue and with the falcon soaring against a white moon stitched on his rich velvet doublet, he looked like a healthy boy who had his whole life ahead of him. The fact that he had already fathered a son and heir at his young age was taken as a sign that the gods were on his side and this made his rule ironclad in the Vale, unlike his cousin Sansa's precarious one in the North.

"Greetings, cousins. My lady wife Marsella and I are honoured to be your guests," Lord Robert said in a surprisingly deep voice, inclining his head slightly. With curiosity, he looked politely at Jon and Arya who he scarcely had contact with in the past. But when he glanced towards Sansa, his eyes became hard with restrained bitterness.

There was something in his shared history with Sansa that soured his kingdom's relationship with the North, but he kept his true thoughts to himself in practised courtesy. He cleared his throat as he looked back at Arya. "Hearing about your return to the continent came as pleasant news to me, Princess Arya. As was requested by your sister, I have brought a worthy suitor who may be to your liking. Perhaps a match involving you both could prove beneficial in rebuilding a political alliance between the Vale and the North. Let me present my cousin and former heir, Ser Harrold Hardyng."

 _Request?_ Jon’s heart skipped a beat at the surprising revelation. He felt suspicious as he glanced down the table at Sansa, who was currently avoiding his eyes. _Request for a suitor? What was Sansa playing at?_

But suddenly, as Ser Harrold Hardyng bowed low to Arya and smoothly picked up her hand to kiss it despite her unhappiness at the situation, it all started to make sense.

It was so bloody _obvious_ that Jon immediately felt like breaking something in his anger. The truth was this: that Sansa had invited so many unmarried lords so that she could find a political and advantageous match for Arya. Despite Jon's decree from when he was the king that Arya was off-limits. And without even consulting Arya herself...

"I am honoured that you have travelled so far to meet with us, Lord Robert and Ser Harrold," Arya acknowledged the lords from the Vale in a diplomatic way, perhaps drawing on the mummery skills she had learned from Braavos. Because he knew her so intimately, Jon recognised in the finite shift in her expression that she too had realised Sansa's intentions as well. Her face had lost its warmth, and her voice was cool despite her honeyed courtesies. "From what I know, you were once betrothed to my sister Sansa when she still lived in the Eyrie. She was fond of you, ser."

Ser Harrold's deep blue eyes shifted as he looked from Arya to Sansa, gleaming with both regret and longing. He gazed at Sansa with an almost-intimate fondness. "That was a long time ago, Your Grace. I meant to marry her before I even knew that she was a lady. The Eyrie knew Her Grace as Alayne Stone in those days. I was besotted even when I thought she was a bastard at the time..." His lips turned up in an adoring smile, causing dimples to appear on his cheeks, before he tore his eyes away from Sansa, focusing instead on Arya. "But you are equally as beautiful as your sister, princess. I have heard from Northmen that you look like the famed beauty, Lady Lyanna Stark, a winter rose in blossom. I would be honoured to have the opportunity to dance with you, Princess Arya."

From the periphery of his vision, Sansa's eyes flashed in a curious moment of irritation – it almost looked like jealousy. Lord Willam noticed this as well, and his hands closed into fists at the table.

Jon gritted his teeth, wanting nothing more than to take the man out and ask about his true intentions. But Arya, out of all of them, reigned in her facial reaction as she gave Ser Harrold a courteous nod. But before she stood, she drew close and pressed her lips on Jon’s cheek in a sweet, sisterly kiss that lingered a heartbeat too long, murmuring a quiet ‘duty calls’ into his ear.

He almost shuddered, his hands itching to hold her wrists tight and keep her beside him where she belonged. But that was poor form, especially since this used to be his court when he was king. He had to be the bigger man, had to tamp down his feral instincts – the dragon and the wolf that raged inside him that had long claimed Arya for himself.

"Very well, Ser Harrold," Arya said as she rose gracefully. She looked beautiful and alluring in the cream-coloured dress that clung sensuously against her lithe feminine curves. It caused the knight of the Vale’s eyes to linger at the flash of skin of her pale throat and the tease of her half-covered small breasts and tiny waist. "It is the least I could do after you've travelled such a long way."

Jon watched them walk together arm-in-arm towards the middle of the hall where two rows of lords and ladies had assembled for the first formal dance, all of the pairs facing one other in preparation for the start of a new song. A courtly but rousing song called _Iron Lances_ was played with lutes and drums, while a strong and familiar voice was singing. Jon noticed that the bard was known to Arya for he once belonged to the Brotherhood without Banners: it was none other than Tom of Sevenstreams.

The two rows of lords and ladies danced a courtly dance - simple but visually appealing as they all tried to be in synch with one another, circling around their partners with dresses billowing out, and most of them smiling or laughing. It was the dance of the young and the privileged, a showing off of the North's lordly heirs and knights as well as prospective young noble brides.

Jon's eyes were locked on Arya's graceful form which he knew so intimately, painfully acknowledging to himself that it was just a dance but suspicious of the knight's intentions now that he had an inkling of what Sansa truly wanted. Despite being partnered with another man in the dance, however, Arya’s eyes were frequently locked with his.

There was a dark promise in her grey eyes, a vow to make it up to him later tonight in bed with her spread out and open beneath his body, naked under his eyes and touch. Despite the annoyance he felt, Jon felt himself stirring as his jealousy ached to manifest itself in the rough games they sometimes played in the bedroom. He wanted his bride all to himself - to touch her and claim her and remind her that she belonged to him completely.

"Your Grace," a young, unfamiliar voice directed towards him snapped him away from furiously watching the way that Ser Harrold's large hands were wrapped around Arya's delicate little waist.

When Jon forced himself to look at a thin and plain-looking young boy who stood before him, he noticed the grey-green colours of the boy's doublet. He likely was the page of the man who had been staring at him earlier in the night when he had entered the hall with Arya.

"Lord Howland of House Reed requests a private audience with you, Your Grace," the boy said respectfully, his head bowed so low that his brown fringe fell across his hazel eyes. "He wishes to speak with you outside of the hall if that is possible. He is awaiting you now."

"I don’t know your lord, child," Jon said, feeling suspicious but curious. "What purpose does he have in summoning me from the hall? Why did he not greet me at this table instead?"

"I’m sorry, Your Grace," the boy faltered, eyes cast down in embarrassment as his face became red. "He only said it was a matter of importance. And his words were only meant for your ears and no one else’s."

Despite Jon's misgivings of leaving Arya alone with the pack of hounds who were all sniffing around her, waiting to dance with her around the fringes of the middle of the hall, Jon forced himself to nod at the page. "Aye, I will go to your master in a moment."

The boy bowed low in relief and gratitude. "Yes, Your Grace."

As the boy retreated, Jon gritted his teeth and turned to look at Sansa now that there were no more lords or ladies in front of them. The entire hall was now focused on the dancing, countless eyes assessing the lords who eagerly wanted to dance with Sansa's intended heir.

"Stop glaring at me with your hateful eyes," Sansa muttered under her breath as she smiled at the crowd, clapping with them as the dancing couples bowed and curtsied. There was a reshuffling of partners, and Arya was now paired with a young lord from a Northern House. "You are no longer king, and you must accept this. As I am now the head of House Stark, Arya is mine to command and marry off. She will do her duty when the time comes. Just like all the other highborn girls in this land, Arya is not exempt from this duty."

"No, you have no right at all, Sansa," Jon growled in fury, his blood boiling. "Had she not done enough for this kingdom that you would subject her to this? After you yourself were forced to marry into the Lannisters?" He wanted nothing more to declare that Arya was betrothed to him - belonged to him from the very start truly. But he was wise enough to not do so in a hall full of lords and ladies who still thought that he and Arya were merely siblings. "And you want Arya to have no say in her future too?"

"It is _precisely_ that," Sansa answered diplomatically, her face oddly still smiling at the crowd as if she wasn't even fazed by her own decision to control her sister’s life. "No one is above the law, not even me when I was married off to Lord Tyrion. And now that _I_ am the law, it is Arya's turn to do her duty for her family. This will only better the Kingdom of the North. A political match will strengthen the kingdom’s alliances and will stabilise the land. I know she is your favourite, Jon. Everyone knows that. But she is now of an age to be wed. She is no longer a child. But you worry far too much. I assure you that I will find the best match for her and consider her preferences before I make my decision."

"Fuck you," Jon snapped in fury, baring his teeth as he glared at her. Before he could lose his temper, he hurriedly stood, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. His hands had closed into fists, shaking at his sides. He stared at Sansa who looked up at him as if _he_ was being irrational, her lips still turned up in false courtesy. Not for the first time, Jon could see Lady Catelyn in her, judging him as a worthless bastard and not even worthy enough to be called by his name.

 _Bastard,_ was what Lady Catelyn always called him. _Never ever Jon._

 _Half-brother,_ was what Sansa called him when she learned to copy her lady mother – to look at him as the bastard of the family, even though her courtesy held back any spiteful remarks she might have wanted to say.

"Arya is under _my_ authority, not yours," Sansa had the gall to remind him. "I suggest you cool off and meet this lord who wishes to speak with you. Mayhaps when you come back to the hall, reason will have returned to you."

By all the gods, Jon had to hold himself back from raising a hand. Every other person who had threatened Arya had not been so fortunate.

Everything about Sansa made him furious from her face and hair that looked like Lady Catelyn's to the wolf crown upon her head. She proclaimed herself as queen despite Robb's will, and his own will. It was difficult to stomach the reality that, in a way, Jon had been usurped as the king.

Sansa became queen despite her questionable legitimacy because she was technically a Lannister through marriage. And yet here she sat, acting as if she was perfect and proper as if she was as honourable as her lord father, Eddard Stark. As if she had never backstabbed her own family members just to have the crown and the seat of the North.

Jon almost laughed at her in dark hysteria. This was the same woman who had betrayed her vow to him in front of the heart tree, essentially the Old Gods. And that broken vow had resulted in the death of _thousands_. Even now, as she conducted her royal affairs with lavish feasts in the hurriedly-restored castle of Winterfell, the Northern smallfolk suffered in their impoverished villages. The meagre gold of this kingdom came as a result of the toil of hungry slaves, of the yoke upon their backs.

"This is not over," Jon warned her in restrained rage. Before she could say another word, he turned his back to her, Ghost rising from the floor to his full height, ready to follow him as his ever-loyal companion.

To the grey direwolf with the golden eyes, Jon commanded, "Guard your mistress well, Nymeria."

And then he sauntered out of the hall to the waiting lord who stood at the doorway, ignoring the curious eyes that stared at him as he passed them by.

***

It was odd to feel at ease next to the strange older man as if they had already met once before. Jon could feel the presence of his loyal friends and allies behind him. They had followed him outside the hall immediately, intent on guarding him. No doubt, they could not forget his past violent experience at the Wall, when he had been drawn out from the Shield Hall and then murdered in betrayal by his black brothers of the Night’s Watch.

For once, Tormund Giantsbane was silent as he stalked twenty feet behind him, with the couple Styr of Thenn and Satin Flowers next to him. With them were Lord Davos Seaworth and Jon’s old friends Grenn and Pyp – all of them loyal and protective of him. They were ready to fight alongside him, to defend him with their axes, swords, and bows.

Lord Reed walked down the long stone hallway with him and, together, they stopped just outside an open doorway where the biting night wind ruffled their hair and cloaks. The scent of Spring’s flowering trees was sweet and fragrant, reminding him of Arya whose love for him was just as sweet. Jon wondered how she was faring, trapped inside the hall as she played the role her sister wanted for her, a proper princess heir.

With Ghost next to him as his loyal guard and protector, Jon and the crannogman lord stood together atop an empty, covered bridge that was lit by both the torches placed on sconces mounted on the castle wall’s granite exterior, and the bright full moon and twinkling stars across a deep blue-black sky. The cold night air was a blessing, clearing his head and cooling down his black rage as he watched his breath fogging up in front of him. His urge to draw Longclaw from its sheath and inflict pain upon Arya’s admirers was not so intent at the moment, although he wanted nothing more than to give in to his urges. Perhaps when this was all over, life would once again be less complicated and they would know true lasting peace.

Jon could not deny that Sansa had the upper hand right now as the Queen in the North. Legally, there was no way to get around the fact that Arya was under Sansa’s command so long as she was her heir. It was a cruel twist of fate that they had ventured back to their childhood home with hope only to be confronted with this ugly reality.

Did their betrothal matter at all? So long as he was of noble stock and not a bastard, Jon was sure that he was afforded rights to Arya because as the woman betrothed to him, he had legal jurisdiction over her according to the law. And yet, it was unfair that despite his true heritage, Jon was still powerless even now because no one knew or recognised his true birthright. There was no _proof_ of his heritage.

But that would change soon. Jon had to commit himself to proclaim his true identity in front of the Northern lords and ladies. Samwell Tarly was here and as Grandmaester with connections to the Citadel could back him up if need be. And other lords who knew the truth would surely be on his side. So perhaps tonight or tomorrow...

The cranoggman lord cleared his throat, turning his whole body to face Jon. In the half-darkness with the light of the torches creating shadows on his plain face, Jon noticed that the man was nervous yet seemed very eager to speak to him.

"My name is Howland Reed," the short, slight lord introduced himself, bowing so deeply that Jon was afraid that he would tip over and fall on his face. He did not look like a warrior at all, although his demeanour made Jon think that he was probably wise. Physically though, there was nothing remarkable about him as he stood there in his green velvet doublet with his house arms emblazoned across his chest. It was that of a lizard lion, a creature that Jon had never seen in person. The man was as old as Eddard Stark if his uncle had still been alive.

"You fought beside Father during Robert's Rebellion," Jon remarked, recalling Maester Luwin’s lessons about war and history. "I've met your daughter before, Lady Meera. She is a courageous woman, and I admire her fortitude. She will for ever have my gratitude for watching over my younger brother Bran when I could not be there for him myself."

"Aye," Lord Howland acknowledged. "Meera is indeed brave. And she is precious to me. But I wish to speak to you not about my daughter but about who you truly are."

Jon cocked his head to the side in curiosity. He had heard the whispers that a copy of Robb's will had been hidden at Greywater Watch, with this particular crannogman: the Lord of House Reed.

"What do you know?" Jon carefully inquired. The truth about the will had come as a surprise when he first heard about it, on the same day when he had been proclaimed as king by his bannermen. But because the will was never present or physically seen despite the testimony of well-respected lords and ladies, his rulership as the King in the North had been questioned continuously by men like Littlefinger, a few minor lords, and even Sansa.

The man’s eyes hardened with determination as he fell to his knees. Firelight from lit torches danced on the pools of his dark irises as he spoke in a sure, steady voice, "You are the Crown Prince Aegon of House Targaryen and House Stark, son of Prince Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna. King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Heir to the Seven Kingdoms. And I am your servant, loyal only to you. I swear my allegiance to you until my dying day, Your Grace!"

His heart stopped at he stared at the lord who knelt before him in confusion, panic, and wonder. Jon didn’t know what to say to such titles, and it worried him. How did this man know who he truly was? Did Uncle Ned tell him? Or had he been there when Jon was born? Did he know Lyanna, his lady mother?

Lord Reed lowered his gaze to the stone floor in shame. His voice shook in the enormity of his emotions. "I am sorry, Prince Aegon – Prince Jon, nay, _King Jon_. For over twenty years, I hid at the Neck like a craven, knowing your true identity. But I was unable to do anything about it. Your lord uncle was my liege lord, and he had sworn me to secrecy. I was bound by honour and duty. We made a pact to never reveal your true parentage because he feared for your safety from King Robert Baratheon. Your poor half-brother Aegon the Older and half-sister Rhaenys were no more than babies, but they did not escape such a horrible fate. To appease the Baratheon king, Lord Tywin Lannister allowed them and their mother to be brutalised by his violent men in ways you could never imagine. Lord Eddard did not want the same fate to befall you, child. You were the only thing left of his poor beloved little sister. Being an older brother yourself, I’m sure you understand this."

For the first time in a long time, Jon was forced to think of the man he had long believed to be his sire – to _honestly_ think of him not only with love for his memory but objectively and critically because his entire life had been affected by his lord uncle’s decisions.

Lord Eddard was the only father Jon had ever known. He had been allowed to grow up in the safety of a castle with his uncle’s trueborn children despite his ‘baseborn status.’ He had been given a lord’s education as he was growing up, fortunate despite being presented as a bastard. The advantages of his upbringing only came to light when he came to live at the Wall as a recruit of the Night’s Watch, forced to live, train, and serve like the sons of criminals and whores. Jon, despite his difficulties, had been privileged, unlike his black brothers. Not once did he know hunger or the lack of basic necessities as he grew up with a privileged education in the safety and warmth of a castle, with his lord father’s protection.

And yet, this decision by his lord uncle to strip him of his true identity and instead be raised as a bastard had been painful to him. Countless rights had been stolen from Jon, and as a result, his experiences made him into the man he was today.

Because of Lord Eddard, Jon had, in a way, been dehumanised even as a child. People from all walks of life looked down on him, believing his blood to run black. A child born from sin was known by all to be as wicked as his origins. Everyone thought he was meant to be a villain – everyone except a handful of people: Father, Robb, Bran, and because he didn’t know any better, Rickon.

But from the moment she was born, it was only Arya who accepted him with all her being, who loved him with all her heart. To her, he had never been a bastard brother. She accepted him completely and loved him above all others. And today, their love for each other was even stronger than before, as they were able to withstand countless wars and long years of separation. Not even death could separate them.

He took a deep breath as his jaw clenched in tension. It was difficult to contain the disappointment, agony, and anger as he thought of Father. Even more than Prince Rhaegar who had fathered him from his own seed, Jon wished fervently to have the chance to speak once more to his lord uncle, the man who raised him – to ask him so many questions…

Did he deserve to grow up as a bastard even though he was the heir to the Seven Kingdoms? Did he deserve to have his birthright stolen from him through his forced ignorance of his own identity as the truth was never revealed to him? Was it right to not even reveal his lady mother’s name to him when his uncle knew that Jon had been heartsick to not have a mother to call his own? When Lady Catelyn scorned him every day with her hateful eyes?

Why did he allow Jon to ride to the Wall at the age of fourteen to commit himself to a lifetime of exile with lowlifes and criminals? It was bad enough that he grew up believing himself a bastard. But to allow him to for ever have no rights to lands, titles, or the opportunity to wed and father children? Because that was what being a man of the Night’s Watch was. Upon pain of death, there was no hope to escape such fate.

Was it Uncle Ned’s love for his lady wife, or did he come to hate Jon a little because of the honour and respect he had lost for raising him as his bastard son? The questions went on and on…

Instead, there was only Lord Reed and a handful of highborn men and women who could answer his endless questions.

"You are angry, and that is understandable," Lord Reed muttered in a pained voice. His lips trembled as his thin hands opened and closed at his sides in nervousness. "Your entire life and your heritage – these things were stolen from you. Even though it was for your own safety, you had the right to know the truth. To be given a choice when you came of age. I can only imagine the difficulties you had to endure as you were forced to live as a bastard child. The horrors you went through as they judged you on false assumptions when you were supposed to be their king for true. And for that, I am truly very sorry."

Jon swallowed painfully, wishing it was Uncle Ned who was before him now, asking for his forgiveness. But it was a mere stranger who spoke these words.

He thought of his upbringing as a bastard boy. The highborn and lowborn looked down on him, it was true. They whispered behind his back, scorned him, and looked down on him with judgment and malice. Even family were not exempt.

Lady Catelyn made it clear that he was never welcome, that he was better off dead. And Sansa looked at him with pity, calling him a half-brother when she truly meant to call him bastard like her lady mother. Even Robb was not exempt. Jon could still remember when Robb told him that Jon could never be the Lord of Winterfell because his lady mother said so. They had only been playing a game, and yet, Robb had felt the need to rub the salt in his wounds... It had been a difficult childhood in that regard.

And yet, he was forced to think of the siblings he had been raised with and the fate that had befallen them: Robb who was betrayed and murdered by a trusted bannerman at the age of sixteen, Sansa who became a hostage to the Lannisters, Arya who had been a lost little orphan in a war-torn region, and Bran and Rickon who had been forced to flee north of the Wall after Winterfell was burned and sacked by Theon Greyjoy of all people. Poor innocent little Rickon never even made it home unlike Jon, his fate for ever unknown.

In their family, Jon had not been the only one who had a difficult childhood.

"You are very kind, Lord Reed," Jon forced himself to say, trying to still his wildly-beating heart. He longed to shield himself from any more heartache. But the man’s agonising confession tortured him deeply, beyond words. His bitterness escaped him as he said, "But don’t you think your words are too late? If you would have told me my true identity and heritage before I was a man grown, at least I would have been given a choice. As it stands now, from my childhood memories, all I remember is the fact that Lord Eddard had no qualms of sending me to the Wall to be a part of the Night’s Watch. It was obvious that he cared but not enough to think that it was wrong for his little sister’s only son to serve a life sentence at the Wall, just because his lady wife was unhappy with my presence in Winterfell. It surely wasn’t for my safety that I was sent to the Wall."

The crannogman’s shoulders dipped low in visible hurt. He let out a shaky breath that fogged up in front of him. And when he raised his eyes to meet Jon’s, it was wet with tears. "Child, I am a man of many regrets. Your lady mother was my friend, and she had defended my honour at Harrenhal. I have never forgotten. There is not a day that goes by when I don’t think of her, and what I could have done to prevent her from being whisked away to Dorne by your prince father, Rhaegar. I agree that Lord Eddard’s decision was one that caused you much anguish, but he has been dead and cold for years. He died as a traitor, scorned by a hateful crowd. The gods were not merciful in his final hours. Was that not punishment enough? That he died without the honour that he valued so much? There is nothing you and I could do about it now. Where I stand, all I could see is that your father Ned – for yes, _he_ was your father, it can not be denied – he had raised you right, and despite all the disadvantages of your false identity, you became a great man in your own right. Even in the Neck, I have heard about you, how your men feared you but also respected you so much. You were a man wise beyond your years, a strong leader who worshipped honour and duty. You rose quickly through the ranks and was made into the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch – one of the youngest in fact. And then, out of merit more than blood and rank, you became the chosen King in the North. _Chosen!_ You have more of the North in you than your brothers."

Jon found it difficult to maintain eye contact, but he forced himself to do so as he listened to the crannogman. Something warm settled inside his chest as he listened to the man, a validation he had long craved even if it did not come directly from Father. He felt vindicated to hear such platitudes, and despite his humility, he believed Lord Reed’s words.

"And Jon," Lord Reed said after a heartbeat, his breath hitched as he fought hard not to weep. "If you must blame someone, you can blame _me_. I alone knew who you were besides your lord father. Although I honoured his wish to keep your identity secret, my heart wanted something else. Aside from your lord uncle and your wet nurse, I too cared for you and took care of you when you were a mere babe. I held you in my arms, cradling you often on the long road from Dorne to the North. You were a perfect baby, hardly crying, and I remember making you smile a lot. My heart ached for the loss you experienced that you didn’t even know about. You had your lady mother’s eyes and her smile. Before our group arrived at Winterfell, I asked Lord Eddard if I could keep you as my ward. I could have hidden you from danger at Greywater Watch, where Lady Catelyn wouldn’t have to scorn you because of your false identity. I would have loved you as my own son, just like I came to care for your lady mother."

Jon stared at the man in surprise: at the tears cascading down his cheeks, and the bitter twist of his mouth. Lord Howland Reed’s words were real, Jon had no doubt about it. The tears were genuine, as was the heartbreak.

It made him think of another life he could have lived as the secret Prince Aegon Targaryen who was kept as a secret, hidden at Greywater Watch. He would have grown up with Meera and Jojen Reed instead of his Stark siblings. For a curious moment, Jon imagined living in the Neck, and growing up with the knowledge of his true identity as the Iron Throne’s crown prince and the rightful heir of the Seven Kingdoms. How different of a man would he have been? Would he have been entitled and proud like most lords? Would he have been more secure in himself knowing exactly who he was and what he was meant to be?

And yet… That would have meant that he wouldn’t know the friendship of his childhood companion Robb, the brotherly adoration of Bran and Rickon, and the wise teachings and fatherly warmth of Lord Eddard. And most of all, he wouldn’t know his dear Arya’s boundless love and devotion for him, and that was a truly horrible thought for Arya was his _heart_. That would have been a cold life, an empty life, and Jon was thankful to have grown up in Winterfell despite everything.

"Your regret seems genuine, my lord," Jon forced himself to say, fighting through the hurt inside him. Their conversation caused him distress, and he wanted nothing more than to end it now. "And I thank you for it. Was there anything else you wanted to say to me?"

Still kneeling on the stone floor, the man nodded wordlessly. Carefully, he reached for the small leather pouch at his belt, retrieving from inside two scrolls sealed inside cases made with sturdy boiled leather – a dark grey one and a blood-red one. The grey scroll case had the direwolf emblem of House Stark embossed across its surface while the red case had the dragon emblem of House Targaryen. Both were locked tight by silver and gold fastenings.

"I have kept this safe for you, my king," Lord Reed declared, raising both scrolls up and presenting them to Jon. "King Robb’s will that declares you as his heir, and documents regarding your birth and the legitimacy of Prince Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna’s wedding. Which makes you the true heir: the King of the Seven Kingdoms."

Jon swallowed, his heart skipping a beat. For a moment, he could do nothing but stare at the two scrolls. What was he to do with them?

He turned away painfully. "I am still in exile, lord. I have no need of them."

"It is who you are, like it or not," Lord Reed insisted. "You are noble and full of honour, but these two things rightly belong to you."

Jon took a deep breath, fogging up the air in front of him. Despite his reservations, he took a careful step forward and took both leather-encased scrolls from the crannogman. In his hands, they felt heavy, just like the destiny that they promised. He cleared his throat as he turned to the older man once more, feeling sorry for him for the first time. Twenty years was a long time to bear this burden.

"Please rise, Lord Reed. You need not kneel in front of me. I am not your king," Jon reminded him. "Sansa is your queen, and Bran is the king of the Six Kingdoms. I do not wish to make war with my younger siblings."

"Younger siblings who both usurped you!" Lord Reed spat out in sudden rage. As Jon asked of him, he finally stood up from the ground. His shoulders were tense with quiet anger and indignation. "You were usurped twice over, Your Grace. Does this not anger you?"

"As you said, Lord Eddard raised me better than that. Duty and honour are what matter to me. At the moment, there are only a select few things that matter more."

"What are these things, Your Grace?" Lord Reed asked in curiosity, his rage dying down a little in the face of Jon’s calmness.

"My freedom, a release from my forsaken exile. My future… With a woman I intend to wed, and to secure a future for the children we will someday have. And a home I could share with her and the family we create together."

"Do you mean Princess Arya Stark?" the crannogman asked plainly, without judgment.

Jon gasped, his eyes widening in surprise and his heart skipping a beat at being read so easily. Flustered and hating his reaction, Jon quickly schooled his facial expressions even though the other man already saw what he truly felt.

For the first time that night, Lord Reed smiled at him knowingly. His plain face looked friendly and warm. Jon felt a fatherly affection from the man – could see that this man was indeed Father’s friend once long ago, one who had cared for Jon enough to want to raise him as his son at his own castle.

"You are more like your parents than you think," Lord Reed revealed, looking at him with longing and nostalgia. "You have your mother’s strength, the iron inside her. And, despite everything that had happened because of their union, there was one thing I could not deny even now, decades later. Your prince father was a villain and a scoundrel for doing what he did, but perhaps he had also loved your lady mother in his own way. You both have a weakness for fierce Northern girls with the Stark look. Lyanna and Arya… Has anyone told you how uncannily alike they look?"

Jon nodded. "I’ve heard it since I was a young boy. But tell me, my lord, is it a bad thing that I am… like Prince Rhaegar too? All I know is that his actions caused the end of House Targaryen’s dynasty."

"From what I know of you, you fought a war for a girl too like Prince Rhaegar, a girl you loved dearly even though people think you only love her as a little sister. I’ve heard the stories of how you died at the Wall because you broke your vows for Princess Arya, how you rose from the dead and rode to Winterfell demanding for the bastard Ramsay Bolton to come out and fight you. You brought war to his doorstep and vanquished the Bolton Army, with the North uniting once more under the Stark banner. You were the chosen King just as Robb had been. Sansa, in contrast, was _never_ chosen. It was because there were no Starks left in Winterfell, so they had to settle for one who was legally a Lannister – who is _still_ legally a Lannister to this day. There were no other alternatives unless the North united once more with the rest of the Six Kingdoms. And then Northern sovereignty would have been lost, although we would have had the rightful trueborn heir Bran as king. But you are what the North needs truly. You are my king."

"Enough of that," Jon commanded bitterly. "I will hear no more talk of your desire to place me as king once more."

"Even if that is what you truly are?"

"Yes, even so."

Lord Reed sighed as he nodded his head. "Very well. In that case, those sealed scrolls… Will you need me to keep them secure for you? Or do you have any other plans where I could assist you?"

Jon frowned, staring at the two scrolls in his hands, one grey and the other red. "One declares me as a Stark and the other a Targaryen. Two choices."

"Is the decision difficult? Why not both? Are you not a Stark just as you are a Targaryen? You are a Northern wolf just as the dragon blood flows hotly beneath your skin. I could see in the House colours you are wearing that you have slowly begun to accept your dragon side, even if you still consider yourself a wolf."

"Aye," Jon forced himself to acknowledge. "Arya has been instrumental in that. She bears no judgment about my true identity. And even when we were children, she and I looked to the Targaryen heroes as our own heroes. Choosing to be Targaryen in name will mean…" he trailed off, not wanting to say any more.

Lord Reed’s eyes softened in understanding. "The heart is all that matters. Twenty years and more, and my heart still aches for a woman too. I understand completely."

Jon looked up from the scrolls and saw an ancient agony in the craggnogman lord’s eyes, and he wondered if this man had loved his lady mother too, in the same way that he loved his Arya.

***

**Arya Stark**

The dance was never-ending, and she tried her best to keep up despite feeling a little faint. Partners changed often, never staying the same. She danced with gallant knights, old lords and young lords, shy and friendly men, and drunk ones too. Her skin crawled when she was partnered with men whose eyes openly devoured her form. Their hands grasped hers, and she was thankful that their bare skin was covered in leather, silk, or velvet gloves. Whenever their fingers traced down her spine to the small of her back, her body stiffened, wishing for the feast to end.

Playing the part of the proper princess was a trial. It annoyed her thoroughly, but not enough to give in to her willful need to spurn the men who danced with her, complimented her, and tried to court her. These were her lord father’s men, after all, the bannermen of the North. Arya knew that if she was not at her best behaviour, she could shame her House and Sansa would be disappointed in her the same way that her lady mother would have been. There was not a moment when Sansa reminded Arya of their beloved lady mother, and the guilt associated with Lady Stoneheart ate away inside her heart.

As she twirled about and tried to keep up with the steps of the courtly dances, Arya had been alarmed at first when she could no longer find Jon in the hall. She worried that he was upset with her.

But soon enough, Ned Dayne came to dance with her when the song _The Winter Maid_ was played. Through him, she learned that Jon had been summoned to speak with an important Northern lord. He also assured her that Jon’s loyal men went with him, ready to defend him to the best of their abilities if he was in any danger. That gave her relief.

Lastly, Ned warned her of the men who had whispered horrible things about her, lords and knights devoid of noble intentions. He wouldn’t repeat their exact offending words, but he readily revealed their identities. Arya found that they were men that she did not know, except one: Elmar Frey.

"With respect to my friendship with Jon and in his absence, I swear that I shall do my best so that no harm will come to you," Ned vowed earnestly as they moved slowly around each other in a simple dance that all highborn children knew. "I swear to defend you just as my uncle, Ser Arthur Dayne, defended Lady Lyanna."

Arya smiled at him gratefully. "You are a good friend, Ned. But like my lady aunt, I could fight too. Did you not know that she was the Knight of the Laughing Tree?"

They both laughed, both of them content in sharing a moment of friendship. He pointed out their former companions from the Brotherhood without Banners. In the crowd, she found Harwin who had slipped in to grab a hunk of roast boar and Tom of Sevenstreams who sang with the other musicians, his voice as lovely as usual. When Tom noticed her looking his way, he grinned as he winked at her. It was exciting to reconnect with long-lost friends.

Soon their dance came to an end, and partners changed once more. She was amused to find Ned flushing as he awkwardly took the hand of the beautiful Lady Wylla Manderly. And she was intrigued to find Lady Wylla looking at her friend just as bashfully.

Despite her joy at being amongst friends, Arya longed for the night to be over, wanting only to crawl in bed with Jon, to sleep with him in the same bed for the first time since their last night at Castle Black. She found herself so exhausted, and even now, she still felt the vestiges of her earlier nausea. Perhaps it was heightened by the fact that she was in such an enclosed space where so many food smells blended together. It was a trial to not retch from her nausea. She had been spoiled by the past weeks, when she breathed only the clean and fresh air of the outside. It felt very suffocating to be indoors.

"Greetings, Your Grace. You look a little pale, I’m afraid," the young man who was her new partner remarked, bowing just low enough to be courteous as she curtsied as gracefully in the way that the _Black Pearl_ had taught her back in Braavos. The song _Let me drink your beauty_ begun to play in the background. "Are you well, Princess Arya?"

The young man in front of her loomed over her with his considerable height. He looked very familiar, with a weasel-like face despite his muted comely features. Arya frowned as she realised who she was face-to-face with. He was the youngest son of Lord Walder Frey and eerily looked very much like his sire. "Elmar Frey," she muttered, her entire body tensing. "It has been six years, more or less. You probably don’t remember me, but I do remember you."

Elmar raised a brow as he stared down at her in question. Together, they started moving around each other as they followed the courtly dance that had begun. Arya hated the fact that Elmar towered over her, his body twice as wide and with bulging muscles that stretched over his silver-grey velvet clothing. Elmar and Ned and even Bran all used to be close in height with her when they were children – now they had all become tall men, just like Jon. Unlike them, however, Arya remained small and petite, with a body that appeared delicate despite her strong personality.

"I’ve never met you before, princess," he remarked before smirking at her slyly. He leaned down and whispered huskily in her ear, his breath stinking of wine. "But I think I know why you believe this. We were betrothed once, and that betrothal remains in effect. I intend to claim that promise made by your lady mother and king brother. A vow like that was not meant to be broken. You would make a fine wife for any lord, but we are of an age and would be perfect for each other. Together, you and I could be the Lord and Lady of the Crossing, ruling over the Twins. And also… You are beautiful, my princess. My nights would never be dull with you as my wife."

She almost slapped him in her fury, her skin crawling in disgust at his words and his breath. "Is that meant to insult me or compliment me? I would never marry you, ser."

His eyes flashed in annoyance although he forced himself to smile at her in amusement as he commented, "You are unladylike for a princess. Did you spend too much time with the savage wildlings beyond the Wall? Or was it your bastard brother who has been a horrid influence on you?"

"You will not insult Jon!" Arya nearly growled, very much offended that Elmar would dare say a word against the man she loved the most. Elmar could insult her all he liked, but she would not allow him to ever speak ill of Jon. And yet, she knew that now that she was older, she had to hold herself back from reacting rashly. She was no longer a child prone to anger. It would be bad form to lose composure during the night when her sister was about to proclaim her as the heir of Winterfell. "And you haven’t changed at all!"

Elmar Frey only chuckled, unbothered by her words. His hands tightened around hers in a nearly crushing grip that she tried vainly to escape. His face was tinged pink as his eyes openly trailed down from her face to her breasts, ugly thoughts running through his mind. It looked as if it was a trial for him to look back up into her eyes. "Pray, tell me, where have we met before, princess?"

"Harrenhal!" Arya hissed, glaring up at him. "You were Lord Bolton’s page while I was his cupbearer. I served Lord Bolton and, for a time, Lord Tywin Lannister too. And one day, I found you crying about a princess that you were supposed to marry…" Her eyes widened in disbelief before her face fell in realisation. Her heart sank as she whispered to herself, "And that princess had been _me_."

Shock made them stop moving, both of them frozen in the middle of the other dancing pairs. People were staring at them.

Elmar’s face soured and his lips twisted as he grimaced. "You were the slave girl? You can’t be! That girl was ugly and lowborn!"

"Insult me all you like," Arya snapped angrily. Behind her, there was a distinct low growl. She realised that Nymeria had stalked closer to them in reaction to her emotions, threateningly baring her sharp teeth to the young knight of the Riverlands. "You’re not helping your cause."

His face paled in panic when he noticed her direwolf. Whether or not he was stupid or brave, Elmar remained steadfast, rooted to the spot. Turning from Nymeria to Arya, he suddenly sounded contrite even though his eyes were full of hate. "I apologise, Princess Arya. Perhaps we started off on the wrong foot. I was never known for my graces in court. Despite your lord uncle Edmure doing his best in helping to raise me when I came to live in Riverrun, I fear I may be a lost cause after all. But still… There is the other matter that we cannot avoid."

Arya swallowed, feeling nervous all of a sudden as she knew exactly what he meant. She could feel hundreds of eyes staring at both of them, especially with Nymeria getting involved and both of them not moving in the middle of the dance floor. Mayhaps the Northern lords and ladies did not forget that Elmar was a Frey. There was murder in their eyes. _The North Remembers._

As for Elmar and herself, they may act civil to one another to the best of their abilities, but they were still from opposing Houses, a Frey and a Stark. There will always be enmity between their Houses because of spilt blood from their families’ shared history.

Sighing and trying to be mature about the complexity of their situation, and also because she knew that Elmar shouldn’t be judged for the sins of his lord father, Arya walked off towards a back corner of the hall where fewer people would notice them. Behind her, Elmar followed her, his angry eyes glaring into her back.

There they stood in front of each other in silence, two children who had lived through the horror of Harrenhal in their own ways, witnesses to the cruelties of enemies and allies alike. Nymeria hovered close to her, a great sentinel whose threatening golden eyes bore holes into Elmar Frey.

"Although it does not seem likely now that I’ve seen that you are just a small girl, my brothers claim that you killed my father," Elmar accused in a bitter tone, his face clouded over in both anger and agony. He was trying hard to ignore the grey direwolf who was looking at him intensely. "Honour dictates that I must seek vengeance for my poor lord father, but out of the goodness of my heart, even if I shall never forget it, I am willing to forgive you for past transgressions. It was a time of war, and if rumours are to be believed that you were involved in the Fall of the Twins, you were mayhaps only trying to free your people, including my good brother Edmure. He took me in as his ward after he reclaimed Riverrun, to live with my older sister Roslin and my little nephew Medgar. Despite the bloody history between our families, I’m sure we could both live past old sins, united in a political marriage."

"Need I remind you that your lord father killed my family too. They were butchered at Uncle Edmure’s wedding - the King in the North, Robb Stark, my lady mother Catelyn, my good sister Jeyne and her unborn child. Most of the three thousand five hundred soldiers of my brother’s army were slaughtered. They were all murdered despite being given guest rights by your lord father," Arya pointed out, feeling the keen sting of ache and betrayal even now. It seemed as if it had only been yesterday when she and Sandor Clegane were on their way to the Twins to meet with her lady mother and king brother Robb. Sandor was supposed to sell her for ransom. She was supposed to be safe. She had hoped so much to be with her lady mother again… _All in vain._

Her voice was hoarse. "So many deaths caused by your lord father. And when I came back to demand justice, I found proof that without a shadow of a doubt, he was the most guilty man. And so his life was forfeit – one man’s life for so many others that he took. The rest faced justice in Riverrun, with their liege lord, my lord uncle Edmure."

"And so what better way to heal the wounds between our families?” he suggested vainly. "We could honour your lady mother’s promise to wed you to me, princess."

Arya stared at him, wondering if he was dense. "You actually think you have a chance after your lord father betrayed my family?"

"The law is absolute," Elmar declared, smiling at her with cruel self-assurance as if he genuinely believed his words. "I have the original sealed betrothal document that was signed by your lady mother, my dear. Under those terms, I have rights to you as my betrothed. You will be mine soon enough. From your hand in marriage to your maiden’s blood."

She heard it before she realised what she had done. There was a loud crack as her open palm connected with his cheek, making it bloom into a vivid pink. Arya had slapped Elmar Frey in her rage, causing his eyes to widen in disbelief.

And before she knew it, his closed fist had connected against the side of her head as well, so hard that she lost her balance and saw black as her head hit a stone wall. Her ears were ringing as she shakily leaned against a wall with a trembling hand. Hurriedly, her other hand closed around the hilt of Needle, but Nymeria had beaten her to it.

Through the haze and ringing in her ears, she barely heard the growls of her direwolf. But she knew through their connection that Nymeria was half a heartbeat away from tearing through Elmar Frey’s throat.

Arya closed her eyes and hurriedly soothed her direwolf through her mind, seeing through Nymeria’s golden eyes. Below her massive paws, she could see Elmar Frey on the stone floor, crying out and begging for mercy as he tried to hold Nymeria back by grasping the fur at her neck with his hands. Elmar reminded her of Prince Joffrey at the Trident, his pride lost in the face of Arya’s direwolf protector. She tried hard to reign in Nymeria’s killer instincts, not wanting her direwolf to kill Elmar Frey despite his offending words and actions.

"What in the bloody hell is going on here!?" a loud booming voice shouted over Nymeria’s growls.

Arya took a deep breath and tried to straighten up despite feeling dizzy from the blow to her head. When her eyes focused, she found herself looking at her great uncle, the Blackfish. Despite her agony, she couldn’t help but exclaim, "Uncle Brynden!"

"Oh, my dear child…" Ser Brynden the Blackfish muttered, voice hitching as he looked at her. He stood there with his hand on the hilt of his sword as he eyed Elmar Frey with disappointment and anger. He was accompanied by guards from both the Riverlands and Winterfell. Gruffly, he ordered the men to take Elmar Frey out of the hall before turning to face her once more. Behind him, Arya was surprised to see that half the hall was on their feet, their hands on their weapons, ready to spill Frey blood as well.

Her great uncle smoothed her hair back in a fatherly way, his eyes full of concern. With one hand, he gently touched the side of her head, right above the ear. It felt wet, and when he drew it back, Arya saw that it was red with blood. "I told your lord uncle that bringing that boy was a mistake. I don’t know what you and Elmar were arguing about, but he was wrong in striking you, child."

"I struck him first," Arya admitted, biting her bottom lip as she ran her fingers through Nymeria’s soft mane. Her direwolf was tense beside her as her golden eyes followed the form of Elmar Frey being dragged out of the hall amidst the outraged and angry stares of the Northerners who had witnessed their exchange. She still felt shaken at what had just transpired, but Nymeria’s presence gave her strength. It was Jon that she wanted though. She wondered why he was taking so long to return.

Ser Brynden smiled at her sadly, his eyes softening. "Be that as it may, he will be punished by your lord uncle. Do not worry about that. Now, how fares my favourite grand-niece?"

Arya couldn’t help but laugh a little despite the pain and persistent nausea. She had to hold back the urge to vomit the meagre amount of food she had eaten at dinner. "That is not something you should say, Uncle. Not while you are standing in the halls of the Queen, who is my sister. And she has the Tully looks not me so it would make more sense for you to favour her, just like my lady mother. As for me, I am alive and have grown older but possibly not wiser. I have no doubt embarrassed my sister and her court. I am awaiting a talking-to any moment now. Sansa has inherited our lady mother’s propensity for making me feel that I am always committing the most horrendous atrocities no matter what I do."

"You have always been so hard on yourself, child," Ser Brynden lamented. "Now come and sit while I clean your face."

Arya felt an odd déjà vu as she sat on a bench while her great uncle fussed at her, wiping the side of her face with a damp cloth that smelled like cider. It had been years since she felt the kind touch of a family member besides Jon’s. She didn’t know how to react.

The Blackfish’s gentle hands reminded her of her lord father. The memory of Father smiling at her for the last time at the Tower of the Hand flashed through her mind, causing her chest to tighten painfully. But she swallowed her agony, turning away from his kind eyes and instead watching the dancing partners in the middle of the hall. _The Dance of the Dragons_ was being played by the musicians in the background.

"I have your crown, the winter crown you inherited from your brother Robb," Ser Brynden confessed after a moment of silence between them. "I have not forgotten that it was you who was crowned by your lady mother. It rightly belongs to you and not your sister, Your Grace."

"Uncle, please call me Arya," she mumbled, feeling uneasy at his revelation. "The crown was never meant for me. You know this too. The crown passes to Sansa… or to my brother Bran. Truly though, it belongs to Jon. Above all others, he deserves it. I have never desired to rule. And I am the last in the line of succession, so I don’t matter truly. My siblings – they were meant to rule. I was meant to _serve_. All I’ve ever wanted was to be home again. To be with family. Not power or the crown."

His hand rested atop her shoulder, squeezing it gently. There was regret in his voice when he said, "Sometimes, we don’t always get what we want, child. You should be prepared for whatever comes your way."

Arya shifted uneasily in her seat at his words, feeling very tired.

"Princess Arya?" inquired a feminine voice hesitantly.

Arya looked up to find a small group of women looking at her with warmth. She recognised Lady Meera Reed, Lady Alys Karstark, and the lady sisters who were Lord Manderly’s granddaughters, Wynafryd and Wylla.

In response, Arya tried to stand to greet them, but Lady Alys put a hand on her shoulder, shaking her head.

"No need to stand, Your Grace," Lady Alys said, her eyes softening. "We just wanted to see how you were faring."

Ser Brynden grinned at the women and stood. "Please sit with my niece, my ladies. I’m sure she will be happy to have some female companionship right now. If you need me, I will be by your lord uncle Edmure’s side, Princess Arya."

"Thank you, Uncle," Arya said gratefully as she watched him retreating from the table. To the ladies who she didn’t know well yet, she felt almost shy. They were all lovely, with refinement and grace that Arya had always struggled with as a child. Even Lady Meera, who used to run around in breeches like her during the war – now, she looked dazzling and elegant in her grey-green dress. "Please sit. I hope you have been enjoying yourselves at tonight’s feast."

"We have, Your Grace," they all answered at the same time, surprising each other and causing laughter amongst themselves.

Arya felt lighter, smiling at them.

Lady Alys offered to fix her messy hair, and Arya bashfully agreed. She was silent as Lady Meera complained to them about presumptive lords who tried to court her in ways that were offensive, while Lady Wynafryd whispered about the gallant Ser Harry from the Vale, her face red.

Arya’s heart fluttered as she was reminded of her lady mother while her cousin took care of her. Her lady mother had always preferred to brush Sansa’s hair because Arya’s had always been tangled like a bird’s nest. It hurt to think of her now as Lady Alys’s hands gently redid Arya’s braid, taking care to handle her head wound with care. She was sisterly and warm in ways that Arya craved so much.

"You and I are kin," the older woman told her, gently picking up her hand so that Arya could press a cloth against the side of her head where blood was still slowly trickling. She looked very much like Arya and Jon, with prominent Northern features. Lady Alys was gorgeous, though, a true Northern beauty. Arya wished she had grown up with Lady Alys for a sister. "Don’t ever hesitate to come to me if you have any problems, you hear? I once fled to the Wall to escape an unwanted marriage to my uncle. I owe your brother Jon in helping me during that time. He was instrumental in keeping me safe from Lord Cregan. He ensured my safety when he arranged to marry me off to a much kinder man, Sigorn of Thenn. He may be free folk but compared to my uncle, Sigorn is gentle and kind. My husband has given me happiness that I never thought I would ever have again after my lord father and brothers were killed."

Arya nodded in acknowledgement. "Thank you, Lady Alys. I’m happy that you have had a good marriage. And your children are so lovely too, just like you. Jon is truly very kind. He always has been. Whenever I had problems as a child, it was him that I always ran to above all others. I’m relieved that you were able to escape Lord Cregan. He danced with me earlier, and I must admit that I was surprised by his candour. I barely knew him, yet he immediately offered his hand in marriage. He was…foul."

Lady Alys’s eyes flashed, her feminine graces replaced by a cold iron rage. "Leave him to me, cousin. From now on, I will ensure that my horrid uncle will not disturb you again. How insulting for him to even approach you. He is forty years your senior, old enough to be your grandsire. I am ashamed that he is from my House."

"It’s not your fault," Arya insisted, smiling at her. "But thank you. I’m happy to have you for my kin."

"You and I must stick together," Lady Alys stated, smiling back at her. "Always remember that besides Jon and Bran and Sansa, you have a lot of cousins who care for you. I know that the mountain clans fought for you when they thought that Lord Bolton had you. The North loves you. And the North never forgets."

Arya nodded gratefully, warmth spreading inside her chest. Her voice was hoarse as she found solace despite her physical aches and the dizziness she tried to fight. "Thank you."

***

**Queen Sansa**

The night had started out well enough but was slowly turning into a disaster. It started to go downhill when the _Young Falcon_ , Ser Harry Hardyng, came up to the dais, giving her a heated stare full of meaning before asking Arya for a dance.

It was bad enough that Sansa felt vestiges of her old complicated feelings for him. Still, when her lord cousin Robert suggested that Harry and Arya should be betrothed, Sansa felt affronted. That was something she did not expect.

Jon was, as she expected, furious with her. He was always so protective of Arya, and he was angry enough to curse her and almost cause a scene. Thankfully, he left the hall, allowing Sansa’s Spring Feast to remain undisturbed. She was half-tempted to keep Jon away from the rest of the feast so that he wouldn’t ruin any of her plans.

After Ser Harry danced with Arya, he went back to the dais, with an intensity in his eyes that was almost inappropriate. It made her knees week as their eyes were locked even though she knew that she should tell him off for an action that could be seen as controversial. But he only asked her for a dance, and she went with him with a fond smile, her face flushed and her heart skipping a beat despite her lord husband’s annoyed huff.

At the dance floor, they spoke about the Eyrie, old friends that she hadn’t seen for so long, and how the tourneys at the Vale were not as fun without her there. His touch around her waist was gentle, his face still as handsome as before. And when he smiled, his dimples appeared. She felt her heart flutter at how handsome he looked, and her face once again became warm. It was a relief to know that he had not forgotten her at all. Soon enough, the song ended, and he bowed low to her, his deep blue eyes looking up at her through his long lashes.

"It has always been my pleasure to dance with you, Your Grace," Harry told her gallantly. "You look so happy tonight – _radiant_ truly. And your beauty is like that of the songs. You have always been a fairer maid than the famed Jonquil. You wear your Tully red locks as if they were spun from sunset. Might I write to you from the Eyrie? Just as friends, of course."

"It is hardly appropriate for me as a married woman," Sansa demurred. "But if it is only to strengthen both the North and the Vale’s alliance as allies and friends, then I see no harm in it. Lord Robert is my cousin, and you are one of his closest confidants."

He beamed at her. "I am grateful and look forward to a lasting correspondence with you, Your Grace."

As was the norm, they parted as dancing partners shifted with the coming of a new song. Sansa danced with her bannermen and their young heirs, feeling happy to be in her element. Every so often, she and Ser Harry smiled at one another every time their eyes met. It made her giddy, feeling young again as she remembered old tourneys and feasts from the Vale. She had always loved feasts and music and dancing. She loved nothing more than to twirl in her beautiful dress, surrounded by lords and ladies in their finery.

When she came back to sit at the dais, her lord husband Willam was no longer there. Instead, her good aunt Lady Barbrey had a stern look on her face as she counselled her, "Your Grace, I couldn’t help but overhear that your half-brother was to meet with Lord Reed. Do you not recall what we had talked about before? About the," And here her voice dipped so low that Sansa could scarcely hear, "…will?"

Sansa swallowed nervously in realisation and panic. Lord Petyr Baelish had warned her of this so many years ago. He even made arrangements to send his best men to the Neck so that Lord Reed could be silenced once and for all. Unfortunately, Petyr never told her what became of that endeavour before he died.

"Why you allowed the crannogman to come to Winterfell is a mystery to me, Your Grace," Lady Barbrey sniffed. "Now what are you going to do? If he has the document…"

"My half-brother is noble," Sansa assured her, hoping that she was right in her assumptions about Jon. "He wouldn’t dare usurp me. He won’t want any trouble between family."

"I hope you’re right," the older woman replied. "But it still stands that if he does, he now has the ammunition to change things. You should be wary of him nonetheless."

Sansa nodded, feeling a little frightened at the idea of losing her crown. It was so unfair. She had worked so hard to become the Queen, and she was Lord Eddard’s own blood besides. Jon never truly had the qualification to be the rightful King in the North, first as a bastard and now as a Targaryen. And yet, the Northern bannermen seemed to love him more than Sansa.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Arya’s grey direwolf rose from behind the dais all of a sudden, towering over tables and causing alarm to the lords and ladies at the benches as the she-wolf passed them by. Sansa felt aggrieved; she hoped that the wolf wouldn’t cause a commotion. In contrast to her good and pretty direwolf Lady, Nymeria was wild and terrifying, almost as big Ghost, the wolf that belonged to Jon. She eyed the wolf warily as it stalked silently on padded feet towards the middle of the dance floor. Sansa wanted to scream at it in her panic but felt frozen in fear.

But when her eyes followed the path that Nymeria was following, she realised why the direwolf had moved. Arya had been dancing with Ser Elmar Frey, the ward of their lord uncle Edmure. A Frey and a Stark in the vicinity of one another was not the best of ideas. What was her lord uncle thinking about in bringing the young man North with him?

Arya seemed to be in a heated argument with Elmar, and soon, they were glaring at each other. Nymeria joined them by growling threateningly at the young man. Sansa almost felt like crying. The feast would be ruined at this rate if Arya did something rash.

Thankfully, Arya seemed to know this too for she turned on her heel, leading Elmar to a part of the hall that was less central. Sansa found herself sighing in relief even as her eyes did not leave their retreating forms.

As the two continued to speak to one another in the far corner of the hall, a young page from Riverrun approached her, bowing low and offering up a sealed scroll. The silver-grey wax seal was that of two blue towers united by a bridge – _House Frey._

And inside was something that she thought she would never see.

_  
Queen Sansa,_

_I humbly offer my hand in marriage to Princess Arya Stark, honouring the standing betrothal that was signed by Lady Catelyn Stark six years ago. I invoke my legal rights as her betrothed. With this betrothal, I can offer ten year’s worth of the considerable income generated from the crossing taxes at the Twins for I am the true heir, groomed to be so by my good brother Lord Edmure Tully. I am the future Lord of the Crossing. And I am willing to negotiate a further annual allotment to the Northern kingdom._

_Lastly, because Arya is a Princess of the North, I humbly give up my rights to my name. I am willing to shed my family name and become a Stark. I humbly want to be an instrument of the mending of the old wounds between our Houses. Without interference from me in their upbringing, I also offer our future children to the Northern crown as your prospective heirs and bannermen. This, I swear._

_Elmar Frey  
Heir to the Crossing  
  
_

As Sansa read the letter, her heart thundered loudly in her chest. It was too good to be true, especially since it came from such a dubious candidate for Arya’s hand. But the income of the Twins was a considerable amount and if Ser Elmar was willing to give their future children to Sansa as her prospective heirs and bannermen…

A loud smack broke her from her thoughts, and when she looked up, she was dismayed to find Arya slapping Ser Frey across his cheek. Before Sansa could even react appropriately, the knight from the Riverlands responded to Arya’s violence in reflex, his fist connecting with the side of her head.

Sansa almost screamed. As usual, Arya was ruining everything!

Still, she worried for her sister as she saw a crimson rivulet dripping down the side of Arya’s face. Her sister looked dazed as well as she leaned against a wall.

Immediately, Nymeria lunged at Ser Frey with her rabid teeth bared, growling threateningly as the man landed flat on his back. Sansa felt as if she was transported to the Ruby Ford at the Trident when Arya was trying to ruin her chances with Prince Joffrey. It almost felt like a nightmare.

Despite her grief and consternation, however, Sansa quickly ordered two guards to take the knight out of the hall, to be escorted to his chambers. She will have to talk to the young man tomorrow to discuss the betrothal in detail. She will have to speak to so many other prospective lords too. As of yet, Sansa had not made up her mind on who Arya was to wed.

"Your Grace," Lady Barbrey urgently whispered to her. "I think it’s time to distract the crowd. Perhaps good tidings will help save the night from your sister’s beastly display."

Sansa sighed, feeling tired as she nodded. She stood, drawing attention from the crowd. Smiling at all of them gracefully, she spoke in a loud, clear voice, "Now that we’re all comfortable, well-fed and entertained, I have an announcement to make," she declared. She turned her attention to Arya who was now amongst Northern ladies, making friends with them no doubt. Sansa was relieved that Arya was capable of making friends with the highborn and not just the smallfolk that she favoured. "Princess Arya, please come up here and join me!"

Arya did not look too pleased to be summoned, as if it was a trial for her to just respond. But she did as she was commanded, standing up unsteadily and slowly walking down between the rows of tables and benches. She was halfway down the hall when Jon Snow came rushing in through the doorways, with Lord Edric Dayne at his heels.

Jon looked murderous, seething as he looked around the room. And when he found Arya and their eyes met, they both paused, just staring at one another meaningfully. As usual, they could have an entire conversation without even speaking. Sansa held back the urge to roll her eyes.

Arya’s eyes were wide as her tense shoulders sagged with relief at seeing Jon. And when Jon went to her, he seemed to forget the crowd and his manners as he held Arya’s face between his hands as gently as he could. His fingers traced something at the side of her head in worry before his eyes hardened with anger.

Not wanting Jon to make a scene, Sansa spoke hastily, "Jon, please escort Arya to the front. I vowed that during tonight’s feast, I was going to announce something to the court. Thank you, Jon."

Although Jon did as she requested, offering his arm to Arya as they both walked the rest of the way to the dais with both their direwolves flanking them, Sansa had to tamp down the annoyance from showing on her face. Despite the happy feast that she had painstakingly made possible for them, it was almost as if Jon and Arya were walking to the gallows the way their faces looked.

"Lords and Ladies of the North!" Sansa announced proudly once her siblings were sitting right next to her. She smiled a dazzling smile at the crowd, hoping to charm them. "The past years have been a hardship for all of us, but we have all grown so much from it. Progress for the North is never-ending. The feat of getting Winterfell back to its former glory is only the start. Soon, all of the North will be rebuilt, all the towns and villages becoming even better than before. This I vow to you! And to ensure that the North remains strong, I have decided to name my sister, Princess Arya, as my heir until the time when I bear my own child. And on the morrow, I shall announce the lord who I have chosen to betroth her to!" And, picking up a full goblet and raising it high, she announced with authority, "To Arya Stark, the Heir of Winterfell!"

"Aye!" some said, while others clinked their cups, goblets, and horns. "To Princess Arya, the Heir of Winterfell!"

There was a cheer that went up and down the room, except for a few select tables. One table, in particular, contained a group of old lords and ladies who were suspiciously quiet. Sansa wondered if they were fools, drunkards, or just plain stupid that they would openly not support her.

From that table, Lady Maege Mormont stood all of a sudden. When she spoke, her voice was surprisingly steady and clear, with no trace of drunkenness. "Five years ago, the North decided to choose a man to be the king. And he is here today."

"When the War of the Kings was being fought in the Riverlands," Lord Wyman Manderly added in a loud, booming voice as he stood as well. "Robb’s bannermen decided that the North no longer wanted to bow to the soft Southron lords, nor play their Southern games. Robb was chosen as the King in the North!"

"And before he died, a will was created. The will’s creation was witnessed by all of us at this table. Our House seals were pressed into that document!" Lord Greatjon Umber bellowed with vigour as he rose up to his full height, towering over most men. "Robb named one sibling as his heir, and it was not the pretender queen who sits before us now!"

"Aye," another lord from the crowd piped in. "The Regent Queen is no more queen than Cersei Lannister was. We cannot be ruled by a Lannister!"

"I am a Stark, my lord!" Sansa protested heatedly to ears who wouldn’t listen.

"Lady Lannister more like!" another yelled.

Sansa’s heart was beating so hard in her chest, her hands shaking in fear. The crowd’s happiness from moments before died down as they all stared at the rebellious lords and ladies. She had half a mind to command the royal guards to arrest the troublesome old fools, but they were too quick to speak again, foolishly announcing their treason for all to hear.

"Five years ago, we chose him as our king," Lady Mormont proclaimed so loudly that her voice seemed to echo through the great hall, causing even Sansa to shiver with fright. And then the Lady of Bear Island looked at Sansa with contempt, Arya with quick regret, then Jon with firm resolve. "The North Remembers!"

Despite wearing a velvet dress because of the feast, the old woman pulled out a dirk from her belt, raising it high in the air as she fell on her knees, her eyes only on Jon. "House Mormont stands with him – the true heir of the North! And the reigning king so long as he is alive! The Old Gods have brought him back to us so that he could reclaim what rightfully belongs to him."

The Greatjon Umber unsheathed his greatsword, raised it high into the air with intent, before kneeling before Jon Snow. He roared his proclamation so loudly that the entire hall seemed to shake. "There sits the only man I mean to bend my knee to! The King in the North!"

In an instant, it was as if they had all forgotten Queen Sansa’s presence as the hall erupted in chaos. Lords and ladies went on their knees, shouting their support as they resoundingly cheered in one passionate voice.

"We know no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark!" Lady Mormont yelled as loudly as she could as if she wanted all the gods to hear.

Swords from every scabbard were raised high in the air. Bows, maces, spears, battle-axes, and war hammers were raised too, some smashed like war drums against shields. The roar of the crowd was deafening when, as one, they all proclaimed Jon Snow as the true ruler to the North.

"The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!"

With angry, bitter tears, Sansa turned to look at Jon, intending to demand why he was trying to usurp her when she was rightfully chosen as queen three years prior. This was _her_ reign now. He had his turn, and in his reign, he had lost the North to the Dragon Queen. Sansa was the rightful queen!

But Jon’s face was completely unreadable, his jaw clenched in tension. And next to him, Arya…

Despite the intensity of her fury, Sansa’s eyes widened in alarm when she saw the blood flowing from the side of Arya’s head, cascading like a ruby waterfall down her face and the expanse of her neck, and slowly staining her beautiful cream dress. Her face was so pale, and her entire body was completely rigid with tension as if she was trying her very best to remain upright on her seat.

And then in half a heartbeat, Arya’s eyes rolled back, her head flopping forward as she lost consciousness.

Next to Arya, with lightning-like reflexes despite his shock, Jon caught his little sister in his arms. With wide eyes, he cradled Arya in both alarm and terror.

All the smiles and cheers died when the crowd realised what was going on. They watched with horror as Jon picked up Arya and cradled her small body close to his chest with care. With panic, he carried her towards the exit, commanding Grandmaester Samwell Tarly to follow him immediately while Ghost and Nymeria trailed behind him. Jon’s closest confidants followed too like Lord Davos Seaworth, the wildling Tormund Giantsbane, and Lord Edric Dayne.

And as she watched their retreating forms, Sansa felt as if she was suddenly waking from a dream. In her mind, she could hear Lord Baelish chiding her. _Fight every battle in your mind. Seize every opportunity. Winterfell is yours!_

Sansa rose from her seat and stood tall as she turned to the Red Cloaks, her personal guards, pointing at the table of lords and ladies who had dared to incite rebellion and chaos in her court. Her voice was hard as she commanded, "Arrest the traitors!"

They nearly scrambled off like rats on a sinking ship, but her guards were quicker. Her detractors were surrounded by twenty of her royal guards. It was easy enough for them to take the ladies and the older men, but the younger ones, as well as the Greatjon, were a trial of the unsurmountable kind.

But in the end, against twelve formidable elite royal guards who pointed their swords at him, even the Greatjon dropped his sword and raised his hands in surrender.

"You will regret this, Lady Lannister!" the Lord of the Last Hearth threatened as he and his companions were escorted out of the hall.

Sansa took a deep breath and shook her head. She did her best to smile at him with both kindness and cold fury, "No, my lord, _you_ will regret it instead. But I understand that we are all in high spirits, carried away because of the celebration. I know that you and your table partook in the free-flowing alcohol and perhaps your inhibitions were lowered enough for you to proclaim treasonous but false words. I suggest that you sleep this one out, my lord. On the morrow, I will hold a council and decide on how best to proceed."

And to the rest of the crowd, she inclined her head, offering only peace and courtesy. "My lords and ladies, this has clearly been a mistake. My half-brother is still in exile, and thus the traitors’ words are truly just wishful thinking. An exiled man cannot be the king of anything unless you want the neighbouring Southern kingdoms to wage war against us because we have dishonoured ourselves by willfully flouting their laws and decrees. They are our _allies_ , after all. There are rules in place. Rest assured that I will forget your transgressions and will even forgive you out of the goodness of my heart. Thus I remain the Queen in the North, Lord Eddard’s blood and the rightful ruler of Winterfell. I will see you on the morrow, and I bid you good night!"

As Sansa hurriedly walked through the middle of the hall, surrounded by six of her formidable royal guards, she held her head up high, knowing that she alone deserved the crown – she alone was the rightful ruler of the North.

_The Queen in the North._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I'm still working regularly despite the pandemic so I didn't have that much time. :( I hope you're all keeping safe though! Take care of yourselves!
> 
> This one was a behemoth so I hope you liked it. 17.9K words for this chapter alone! 200K total words now too. I appreciate you all for sticking with me and this fic. Thank you for supporting me! Please leave a message. I love reading what you all think! :)


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